


Eclipse of the Sky

by Firefawn



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Action & Romance, Action/Adventure, Adventure & Romance, Angst and Romance, Book 5: Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix, Canon Divergence - Post-Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix, Canon-Typical Violence, F/M, Order of the Phoenix (Harry Potter), Post-Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix, Romance, Sex, Sexual Content, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-04
Updated: 2018-06-22
Packaged: 2019-05-18 04:39:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 26,566
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14845883
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Firefawn/pseuds/Firefawn
Summary: The magical world contains many species: Vampires, Werewolves, Veelas, & Metamorphs. But what if Voldemort began to harness the unique powers of each? As the Muggle & Magical worlds collide, what can Harry do to stop him? Harry & OC Remus & Tonks





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> A post Order of the Phoenix, pre-Half Blood Prince story.
> 
> Please consider this a replacement of the sixth book. I will not be changing this to accommodate the HBP plotline, since I feel that the Order of the Phoenix leaves a greater degree of flexibility for fan-fiction writers.
> 
> There are currently over 50 chapters and over 400,000 words of this story done, so I will be updating this story as quickly as I can get the formatting done on here.

"Energy. It permeates every living and non-living thing. Without it, the world would cease to exist."  
Vincent VonStolburg 

Chapter 1 Lightning Strikes

Remus' eyes narrowed, peering through the thick onslaught as rain pelted the Earth. He continued walking, not breaking formation even as water sloshed about his mud-soaked ankles, chilling him to the bone.

Moving was becoming increasingly difficult and the thick wool of his cloak clung awkwardly to his icy skin. He wished he had possessed the foresight to don a lighter one, for moving certainly would have been easier.

But there had been little time to think on such details.

His eyes burned, the stinging sensation growing. It happened whenever his rod cells multiplied, and right now the frenzy going on just behind his retinas was aiding him, bringing into stark focus the destruction of the night.

Cloaked images came to life, the moonless night no longer a factor as gray images danced before him with unearthly clarity. It was the one small gift his monthly burden afforded him.

Night vision.

His eyes turned from the world around him, flicking towards the blackened sky, noting the new moon. He had a couple weeks before the pain in his bones returned.

Tonks fell into step besides him, giving an involuntary shudder, and he caught her arm, helping her over another of the dead before she could trip. Her eyes were still bloodshot from the last time it had happened.

She nodded thanks and they continued their stealthy search. They dared not light their paths for fear of giving away their positions. Lingering Death Eaters could be anywhere.

She, unlike so many of the others, had volunteered for this. The others had been afraid, but he did not fault them.

Reaches were a rare mutation. One had not been identified in decades, and the foul and loathsome Death Eaters would go to any lengths to find one. The evidence lay at their feet, and he was thankful that the deep darkness spared Tonks from seeing the full extent of tonight's destruction. Only he could bear witness to its full horror.

Five Muggles had been slain this night. Their torn and mangled bodies long since passed. There was nothing even the best of healers could do. All that was left was to pick through the carnage, hoping against hope that a soul had survived.

He picked up the pace. They had to complete their search before the Ministry officials arrived. By then they were to be gone, mere ghosts to have passed through, unseen and unheard.

The past weeks had brought a slew of murders. No... Butcherings... 

This was his seventh such search that month alone, and still the stench of charred cloth and burnt flesh reeled him. Voldemort had been hunting them down, any witch, wizard, or Muggle who possessed even a trace of a magical species' blood within their veins. Half-giants, the offspring of wizards who had fallen in love with veelas, partial leprechauns, metamorphmagi, mermaids, werewolves, vampires, and a slew of others.

None were safe.

Muggle families were even being polluted with the foulness of Voldemort, and despite the Order's best efforts, they had been powerless to stop it.

"Six..." Tonks whispered, barely audible. Her slender form was bent down, her shaking hands checking for a pulse on a young man, his once golden-blond hair matted thickly with coagulated blood.

Remus bent down, grasping her around the waist as he helped her rise. In the heat of battle she was fiery, unaffected by the horrors of fallen comrades. He had seen her ability to block such things out firsthand in the Department of Mysteries. But now, in the aftermath of something she had no control over, the steely glint was gone from her eyes, her purposeful stride lost.

He pulled her forward, feeling her eyes linger upon the crushed skull of a man barely younger than herself. He could feel its effect on her as she quivered in his arms. He wished to spare her further torment, but they had to continue.

"I really," she whispered hatefully, "would like to skin him alive." Sucking in a breath, she added, "Either that or just burn him and that aunt of mine on a stick, with marshmallows, so I can feed them to a giant."

Remus wasn't fooled. The quake to her voice betrayed her upset. The fact that she was fantasizing about turning Voldemort into a smore encouraged him to make a mental note to never, ever piss off Nymphadora Tonks. 

He wound his arm tighter around her shoulders, squeezing her arm. No words of reassurance were forthcoming, but he felt Tonks grow still, calming beneath his touch.

The sick bastard would pay. The atrocities would have retribution. He would see to that.

The Dark Lord had a new strategy. Snape had informed the Order weeks ago, but even now he still found it unfathomable, for the vile being was no longer content to experiment with magic.

No... Now he was experimenting with magical creatures.

And people…

His plan was to harness the powers of every magical being for himself. So he could channel them into his one acrid being.

If the thought of an even stronger Dark Lord wasn't enough to frighten someone, Remus didn't know what was. But that fear did nothing to quell his barely contained fury.

It was common knowledge that when emotions ran high, witches and wizards often lost control. Hell, he had lost count of how many times Harry had done exactly that.

Only now the Death Eaters were using a Reach's emotions against them. The hooded figures had crept in the shade of night from home to home over the past weeks, killing each candidate's family right in front of them. Their aim was to elicit an emotional reaction, one strong enough to reveal the Reach's true potential.

It sickened him, how the Dark Lord could kill so many innocents, just to force the Reach into doing accidental magic.

But what was even more sickening was the Dark Lord's plans for the poor soul once they were found.

He was planning on utilizing their blood, granting him their power to kill. And the means through which this would be accomplished…

He could only hope that if there was a Reach, that they would find them first. Because while magical ability was now understood, a Reach was not. Not well at least. They were a truly uncommon magical mutation.

Most witches and wizards developed magical ability at a young age. Though there were always the few destined to become Squibs, and there were always a few who developed it later on in life, in their teens. It had turned out that magical ability stemmed from a dominant gene, linked to the genes specifying blood type. And the genetic code Muggles possessed only differed by a few nucleotides, so it was easy for the mutation to arise randomly in Muggles, thus Muggleborns.

But a Reach was not a witch or wizard, they were not a Squib or a late blooming magician.

They were something different entirely. 

When their magical prowess came to fruition, the same system that alerted the Headmaster to the presence of a new witch or wizard would go off.

Tonight that system had gone haywire. It had been slowly registering readings for the past five months.

Now it was going off again.

There was a person out there holding power that they could not properly wield.

And if Dumbledore was right, that meant there was a Reach out there who had finally struck out.

The poor bastard.

They couldn't do regular magic, and they couldn't control the little magic they could do. Wizards and witches had control over theirs, whereas a Reach's was barely controlled. It was why they tended to die so quickly, so young. 

That and the fact that the Ministry had a mandate that all Reaches be killed on sight, the antiquated, prejudicial laws preventing the mutation from ever increasing in the population. 

Instinctively his arm shot out, halting Tonks roughly in place, his dilated eyes roamed, scanning the ground of what had once been an ordinary home set far away from the major roads. Now broken floorboards littered the muddied ground, while smoke from the doused fires curled up in snake like tendrils, shrouding the world from view. 

Yet his eyes penetrated its veil, searching for the flicker of movement that had frozen him in place.

He clenched his fingers tighter around the familiar worn oak of his wand, bracing himself for whatever attack would come.

None came.

It was then that he heard it. A soft choking amidst the storm's howling winds.

He withdrew his arm, placing a finger carefully over Tonks' icy lips, signaling her to be silent. The only sign of her confusion was the light crease of her brow. She would, of course, have no idea what he was looking for. Her hearing was not as refined as his.

But werewolf bites did things like that to a person.

It came again, a low, strangled moan, and he took off, rushing towards the source. No attacker could feign that kind of pain.

He skidded, flinging rocks in the air as he bent down beside her. The puddle she was feebly pushing herself out of was a deep black, filled with the blood of her and the lifeless man besides her. Her body spasmed with each choking hack as she coughed up inhaled water, her eyes glazed over from what he recognized as shock.

He pulled the girl up, speaking in low, reassuring tones as she flailed against him. She was too weak to do much damage, even of the other sort...

Tonks reached them, murmuring soothing words as she smoothed the girls mud caked hair away from her face, brown water emerging from her lips as another round of spasms racked her body violently.

He took her appearance in, another involuntary spasm shaking her. Torn shards of what had once been clothing hung lightly from her, and the debris and dust sticking to her wet face made her features impossible to discern.

He didn't know whether to praise the heavens or curse them as he and Tonks exchanged a meaningful glance. They had to get her back to headquarters before something worse happened. Her shoulder was in desperate need of suturing, and God only knew what else the bastards had done to her before leaving her for dead.  
He let her cough up the rest of the water before stunning her. He hated doing it as he lifted her limp form from the ground, but only one thing could have survived this.  
And as weak as she was, he wasn't eager to get on that thing's bad side. There was no sense in taking chances.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * 

The rain poured down in cold torrents as Harry shouldered his broom, sprinting after Kingsley through the fast forming puddles of London's city streets. It was coming down in buckets now, and if he had thought flying through the torrential downpour had been bad it was nothing compared to the pounding of his feet on the slick pavement.

Moody's guttural growl sounded off to his right, not that he could see him, the rain was too thick to see much of anything. Thunder clapped, shaking him to the core, and the lightning flashed shockingly, illuminating the area to reveal Order members running in rank around him, splashing water as they went.

Five of them had shown up at the Dursleys barely an hour ago, reminding him of that night, barely a year ago, when an escort squad had shown up in the Dursley's kitchen to whisk him away to Grimmauld Place.

Only this night was different.

Promises of meeting with Tonks and Lupin in London were hissed quickly as Kingsley and Moody levitated his things, cramming them hastily into his trunk, and he had not missed how McGonagall's eyes had roamed the room guardedly. Even stern, steadfast McGonagall was frightened.

Tonight truly was different.

Harry blinked rapidly, trying vainly to extract the water cascading into his eyes, but it was to no avail. His glasses were too thickly coated with rain droplets, and he desperately racked his mind for the spell Hermione used to repel water. For his wand was out, and he could use it. The Ministry had removed the Decree for the Restriction of Underage Wizardry that summer. Dumbledore had headed up the motion, arguing that the return of Voldemort endangered witches and wizards of all ages, and that in the event of an attack, students should be free to defend themselves without the fear of repercussions.

Underage wizards still had a trace on them though. They might be allowed to use magic now, but they could still be tracked at all times.

The empty lot materialized between two run down houses, and he looked quickly at the small slip of sopping wet paper dripping from his hand, hesitant to ignore his surroundings for even a second when the foreboding fear of attack hung so thickly about him.

He read it silently before looking up. The run down magical home, in the midst of Muggle London, now stood revealed to him.

Grimmauld Place.

Lupin materialized at the top of the creaky wooden stairs looking worse for the wear. His normally threadbare clothing was now ragged and blood stained, his eyes hollow and sunken, holding the look of prey that knew its predator to be near.

Harry stepped through the doorway, stomping his feet on the shaggy carpet, slinging mud everywhere as the others piled in. He swallowed the lump in the base of his throat, pulling his eyes from the muddy floor, forcing himself to take in his surroundings. A man named Dorbert Cheeks could be heard triggering the complicated locking spell on the front door.

A loud boom reverberated through the house, shaking the walls as indistinct voices argued in the distance. Yet this did not bother him. Even his curiosity as to why he had been pulled so untimely from his bed could not best the despair that had hit him like a bludger. In the heat of the race they had ran he had forgotten one thing.

That they were taking him to Sirius's…

This house had never been joyful, but now it seemed a hollow shell of what could have been. It stood as a painful reminder of the scrapings of a life that he and his godfather could have salvaged. But that life was gone now.

War brought casualties, casualties brought pain, and pain brought emptiness.

That was how he had felt since that night. Empty. There was nothing that could fill the void. Not even the impending terror of facing Voldemort in years to come could make him feel anything but despair again.

Mundungus cleared his throat, turning all heads towards him as he beckoned for everyone to quietly make their way to an adjoining room. He followed, his sopping wet clothes weighing him down with every step he took. But nothing could weigh him down as much as the memories, as much as the burden haunting him...the one they should have told him...

Realization hit him hard, like sudden submersion into the icy waters of the northern artic, as he wondered what they were not telling him tonight.

He glanced towards Lupin who stood protectively next to him, opening his mouth to speak, to ask, but he let it flap shut. He remembered all too well that Dumbledore would not allow them to tell him anyway. They never told him anything when it could actually make a difference...

But even if they had told him, right then, it wouldn't have mattered. There was no way any of them could have known what would happen from that night's events. At least not yet... None of them were seeing past their need to get him to a safe location, so they could not have known that the night marked a turning point in his life, as well as in the life of the only survivor of Voldemort's first wave of attacks.

The war had begun.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * 

Everything hurt.

"It's a miracle she survived..." "Ah...but was 'hat really a good thing Professor?"

Dim voices filtered into her thoughts, her sleep befuddled mind protesting strongly as it failed to comprehend a single word.

"...has a chance."

Flashes of light and flames filled her throbbing head.

She awoke jarringly, her painful moan drowned out by the voices.

Voices that were oblivious to her awakening. Voices oblivious to the way her body recoiled in pain. Voices oblivious to how her eyes teared from the bright sunlight pouring in from the windows of the doomed room. Voices oblivious to how she clawed like a frightened animal at the thick comforter wrapped around her battered and bruised body.

Everything she loved was now gone. No explanation would be needed for her to understand what they had done.

What she had done...

A new despair hit her like a thousand hot knives, slicing her skin in a way the worst of the fired spells could not have.

Kalliandra passed out again.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * 

Harry lay on the top bunk staring at the ceiling, watching the way shadows played across it as light from passing car headlights shone in through the window. Ron's loud snores drifted up, breaking the silence like a bullhorn with every breath, and it was taking every inch of the willpower he possessed, to not lean over and smack his friend senseless with his pillow.

He sighed loudly, wondering when it was all going to end. Each day the Daily Prophet brought news of more killings, more unexplained disappearances, and of more war. For several weeks he and Ron had been catching tidbits of information, slip ups by the adults in Grimmauld Place, and right now it sounded like the Ministry was in absolute mayhem. Not that he minded that fact. Anything that made Fudge's job harder amused him immensely. What he did mind was the reason for the mayhem, and that was Voldemort.

Voldemort. It was odd really, how one person could be the cause of so much death and destruction. No one should have that much power, he thought bitterly, thinking of the toll that the Muggle deaths were taking on Mr. Weasley, Ron's father.

Mr. Weasley was the soul employee in the Misuse of Muggle Artifacts Department, and recently, with the strain on resources in the Ministry, it had come to double as the Department of Muggle Relations. Now Mr. Weasley spent half his time performing memory charms on Muggle law enforcement, to cover up the deaths of Muggles who had been murdered by Death Eaters. Now every time Harry saw Mr. Weasley, all the man could talk about were different possible strategies for protecting the Muggle population.

Now if only a good strategy actually existed.

He rolled restlessly, spying Hedwig's gleaming eyes in the darkness. She hooted softly in acknowledgment, and he smiled in the dark despite his dark thoughts.  
Memories plagued him every time he closed his eyes now. The Department of Mysteries...it was why he now lay awake.

He had willingly, foolishly, led them all into danger. Ron, Hermione, Ginny, Luna, Neville...

Hermione had nearly been killed.

Sirius had been... 

He shoved the thought aside, re-vowing that it would never happen again.

The trick was in figuring out how.

To protect them, he had tried to blatantly push them away, but they had seen right through that. He had refused to write, and his self-induced isolation ended when both of them showed up at the Dursleys while his relatives were on holiday. The two of them set up residence there the entire week, Order members circling the premises like hawks for security, while his friends had infuriated him to no end. However, he had finally realized that they weren't going to go away. If he was going to distance himself he'd have to do it slowly.

He couldn't be responsible for their deaths. He couldn't. 

A gradual drifting would be best, the most believable....

It was with these thoughts in mind, that Harry drifted off into another night of fitful sleep. If only he could have known then what the next few years would bring.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * 

Disclaimer: The characters, places, names, and events mentioned in this story, that coincide with the characters, places, names, and events mentioned in J.K. Rowling's Harry Potter series, do not belong to me, but to that literary genuis, JKR. Thank you so much for allowing so many of us to pursue writing through fanfiction JKR, we really appreciate it.


	2. First Impressions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A shadow, so closely akin to the haunted look of Sirius' swam within her fiery orbs, Harry near shaken to the core at the familiarity.
> 
> The girl's gaze caught his, looking like a deer-in-headlights for a long second.
> 
> In the next she was looking away, her long lashes already framing almond-shaped eyes, concealing them from his view.

"One may never know how long their candle of life's wick is. What they can know, is how well it burns."  
A.K. Lovell

Chapter 2 - First Impressions

Sitting on the stairs outside Hagrid's hut, Kalliandra's bare feet shifted in the grass. The morning dew felt pleasant against her toes, the still warming summer air just cool enough to enjoy. Sighing, running her hands through her hair, she tried to fight down the rising waves of panic.

Diagon Alley.

Hagrid was dragging her there, the key word of that phrase being dragging. She didn't want to be around magic. She wanted to avoid it at all costs, even if it meant hiding in a lower level of Hagrid's house for the next year.

Ever since they'd found her, brought her to this cursed place, she'd been sleeping there.

She hadn't failed to notice that there had been three beds in the basement, the others completely and totally unoccupied. She'd been wanting to ask for weeks why they were vacant, who was supposed to be there, but…

She hadn't mustered the energy to try yet.

A light breeze tousled her hair, Kally casually brushing her whispy strands back, tucking them carelessly behind her ears. Her hair had always been a source of frustration, always in the way, hanging in front of her eyes. No ponytail ever held for long, for her thick, glossy hair had a way of worming its way out. It was as if it preferred to be free and untethered.

Kind of like me...

A creaking of hinges resonated across the empty grounds, even the birds not yet awake. It was just before dawn, only a hint of sunlight creeping over the horizon, but she felt the slight shaking of the steps as Hagrid clambered down to sit alongside her.

The half-giant thumped down onto the bottom stair, sitting next to her in companionable silence. She said nothing for the longest time, and neither did he.

That was nice. It allowed her to forget where she was, and why she was there.

Unfortunately all good things had to end.

Hagrid's voice vibrated solemnly. "Nightmares keepin' yer up again, then?"

Nodding, a lock of hair slipping out from behind her ear to veil her eyes. "Yeah," she half-whispered.

"Same as before for ya then?"

Her eyes fluttered closed, a wane smile touching her lips like the cool morning air. "Always," she admitted, "the same." The screams, the flashes of unnatural light, apparently spells being fired from wands…

"It'll get easier for yer," he tried, Kally practically able to feel his eyes studying her with concern, "with time." Hagrid's voice grew solemn. "Gets easier fer all of us."

Sucking in a sharp breath, her throat felt tight. "I'm not sure I want it to." She didn't want to forget. She didn't want to pretend it hadn't happened. It had. She had lived, and they had died. That reality was inescapable.

"Kally yer shouldn't be-"

"I know." Her voice cut him off quickly, almost snappishly. Abruptly she stood, wiping her hands off on her jeans, taking several quick, swift breaths to calm herself. Emotions were no longer a privilege she had, not now, not for awhile at least. Not until she got this under control.

Dumbledore and Hagrid had both already warned her of what could happen when emotions and magic were mixed, particularly by those who had no idea how to use it.

"Hagrid," she questioned, standing there while he sat, "why are there two other beds in my room?" She already knew that the room she had been staying in was underground, and had been dug out using magic specifically for her to stay in. It was to help keep her concealed, in a place where magical released couldn't hurt anyone else until she grew accustomed it, and yet…

There were two other beds in it.

She heard the half-giant release a powerful sigh. "There were others we thought he were lookin' for, Kally. A half-leprechaun and elf. That kind don't usually go to magical school ye understand, but given circumstance, thought yer three could be roomies until school got up and runnin'."

He hadn't lied to her. He hadn't danced around it. A deep, abiding appreciation swarmed through her. Closing her eyes she nodded, hoping he could see that she appreciated him. "So where are they?"

A second passed.

And then another.

"We didn't make it ter them in time."

She didn't have to ask what he meant; she already knew.

They hadn't found her in time, but they had found her. She'd been still alive, but barely.

"Hagrid," she murmured, "before we leave do you mind if I-"

"Go right ahead."

She was already taking off across the grounds, her bare feet crunching across the dew-coated grass. Jacob's ladders now streamed down from the clouds, forming pools of light on the vibrant grass, giving evidence to the warmth the day would bring as the sun finally began to rise.

It was a warmth that would never quite reach her.

There had been two others.

They hadn't made it.

Choking down anything she might have felt about that, she managed to make it to the threshold of the Forbidden Forest, staying just outside of it as Hagrid had taught her. Cupping her hands together she blew into them, a whistling coming out, hanging in the air. It was a wait, a long wait, but finally a stronger breeze bore the sound of approaching hooves.

Through the forest she saw a shadow approaching, the outline of wings folding into a horse's skeletal body signaling Silverthorne's approach. Hagrid and his magical creatures….they were amazing.

It was the one thing about this world that had actually earned a true, genuine smile.

She needed to concentrate on this, rather than the knowledge that they had tried to save others like herself. None had made it.

Silverthorne let out a low, guttural grunt as he slowed to a canter, stepping out of the forest and nuzzling her almost viciously with his nose. The force was enough to nearly knock her off her feet, Kally having to grab a hold of his mane to prevent just that from happening.

A creature of the dead. It was one of the more unseemly names Thestrals were referred to by, but it explained why she had felt an instant draw to them while the other animals screeched and howled in her presence.

While clinging to his head she caught sight of his teeth, the sharp things glinting in the red hues of the morning. It probably should have concerned her, especially given that Hagrid had harped on and on about some Ministry of Magic X and XX and XXX and XXXX rating system, but instinct again told her there was nothing to fear with this thestral.

At least so long as he gets his morning snack, she reminded herself with some amusement, picturing how he would tear through a ferret's small bones so eagerly.

Really, it was a wonder he wasn't a hippogriff.

It took awhile, but once Silverthrone had stopped trying to knock her over, all but frisking her for treats that she certainly did not have on her, she finally got to sit down. The thestral let out a displeased sounding snort, but he bent his legs and dropped down alongside her, Kally and the creature remaining in companionable silence on the edge of the grounds.

She didn't want to go to Diagon Alley.

Hagrid and Dumbledore had filled her in. She was to attend Hogwarts, but she was too far behind to be expected to actually turn in assignments with the rest of the sixth years. Instead she was to put up a worthy façade until she gained the knowledge that could help her.

Then there was the small factor of her being completely unable to incant in the first place.

No one would be the wiser to why she was really there. Dumbledore's concocted stories would not only check out, but they were even believable to an extent. He would back her if anyone questioned them. That was her only relief in this entire hell.

The hell that had become her life.

Sighing, Kally closed her eyes, leaning over and using Silverthorne as a type of pillow.

The thestral grunted in annoyance, sending spittle all over her jeans.

Somehow Kalliandra figured that didn't bode well as a good start to the day.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * 

"I can't believe Fred and George, I mean they already got me one set of dress robes, they didn't need to do it again."

Harry laughed as he watched Ron squirm uncomfortably, the magical tape measure flying vertically around his friend's no longer gangly torso, magically recording the length of his arms, legs, height, and for some odd reason, the distance between his ears.

He knew exactly why Ron's brothers were getting him dress robes, but he wasn't about to share that piece of information. Not when he was actually enjoying himself for the first time in weeks.

"Well we didn't need them last year," he pointed out truthfully. "And we do this year. So maybe they just felt bad since your growth spurt rendered your other ones unwearable."

"Thank God for that," Ron grunted, slouching as the measure flew past his nose, only to be smacked atop the head since it no longer seemed to care about doing its job peacefully. In fact, if Harry hadn't known better, he would have thought it was offended.

"Blimey! Watch it!" Ron exclaimed, ducking another near hit, his feet entangling in the long dress robes trailing past his feet.

"Ron…" Harry warned, but it was too late. Ron had already tumbled over backwards, arms flailing as he took a rack of robes with him, plummeting tumultuously to the ground.

"Oww...bloody... irritable..."

Harry very nearly choked on thin air, quite a feat, had it not been for the loud peals of laughter he was trying to miserably suppress as he caught the rest of Ron's muttered profanities.

Of course, he thought lightly, his best mate might not be muttering the colorful metaphors if he could see the look on the sales clerk's face….or the fact that she was storming over from where she had been attempting to size a first year for his Hogwarts robes, face alit, hands on hips, eyes narrowed vindictively at the mess Ron lay in.

Right then, with the impeccably bad timing that only Ron could master, his friend's red head emerged from the fray, a bright pink sheet wrapped around it like a shawl, and a sheepish expression on his face as he stammered apologies. The sight must have been too much for the clerk, because her mouth twitched, her serious expression faltered, and all pretense of anger vanished as she failed to be discreet about her own amusement.

"Oh heavens child!" she exclaimed in exasperation, clutching her side hard. "I dare say you might want to take that off before anyone else sees you in it!"

Ron stood up, disentangling himself from the various fabrics while Harry laughed.

"You know mate, I think Madam Maulkin's got it all wrong. I think that's an excellent look for you. Imagine what Hermione would think..."

Suddenly he was finding it impossible to discern Ron's ears from the rest of his tangled matt of hair.

"Oh shut it Harry!"

Harry grinned, enjoying his friend's momentary discomfort. "Speaking of Hermione..." he said, calming down slightly, "she should be here any minute so perhaps you could ask her for her educated opinion..."

A bright pink satin blur flew across the room, and he caught it deftly, holding it out in front of him as he looked at it in mock appraisal. "Ron, I'm touched. But it's really not my color. You however looked absolutely spiffing in it."

"You sure 'bout that Harry? I'd be thinkin' that it'd be clashing with his red hair more than yers."

Now there's another welcome voice! Harry thought. Leaving the Durselys had been great, but he had sourly missed Hagrid.

It was possibly due to this, that he whirled around in his seat so fast that he nearly slid off, earning several loud snickers from a certain chuckling redhead tangled in fabric.

"Hagrid! When did you get here?" he asked, ignoring Ron's attempted reenactment. He took in his large friend standing awkwardly near the chairs.

They really should make stores more accessible for people his size... Harry made a mental note to mention the idea to Hermione – maybe it'd get her off SPEW for a few weeks - as Hagrid opened his large mouth.

"About five minutes ago Harry. And I stand by what I said." A mischievous grin formed under Hagrid's scruffy brown beard as his eyes landed on Ron. "Hot pink would be clashin' horribly with Ron's hair."

A loud tearing sound tore his attention back to Ron, and he stifled yet another laugh at the horrified expression on Ron's face.

By all appearances, Ron had attempted to walk from the fitting platform to where he and Hagrid sat by the windows, only now Ron was staring down at the ripped fabric hanging raggedly from the hem of his new dress robes.

"Now that's why you're supposed to stay put!" Madam Maulkin snipped, spying the new destruction and waving her wand. The fabric flipped up like a snake, a large needle zooming to mend it.

Ron attempted to jump back away from it as if it were a newly unleashed basilisk hell bent on destroying Gryffindor house.

"It won't bite you know!" Madam Maulkin yelled, huffily storming over. "Prick maybe..."

Ron did not look relieved at the thought. Of course, the agonized expression might have been from how Madam Maulkin grabbed him by the scruff of his collar and yanked him back to the fitting platform, where she immediately began to fuss over the dire state of his robes.

"Better finish you first since you can't stand still," she quipped in her high pitched voice. "And to think that this morning I would have sworn it was the younger students who gave me the most problems..."

Ron shot him a pleading look to which he grinned bemusedly, chuckling at how Ron reacted to being fussed over. The guy could hardly tolerate his mother's own tending, let alone that of the seamstress!

Probably why he's still squirming come to think of it…

He turned back to Hagrid, leaving Ron to fend for himself. "So did one of your creatures get a hold of your teaching robes or did Fang do it?" he asked, grinning knowingly. Hagrid's creatures were always tearing his clothes, which would explain why half his garments were covered in mismatched patching.

Hagrid grinned and shook his head. "Nah Harry, for once me robes are fine. Right now I'm 'ere with Kalliandra gettin' her some robes of 'er own. Speakin' of 'er, can't wait for yer two to meet 'er. I was hopin' that the three of you might be willin' to show her-" Hagrid stopped, looking around. "Well where's Hermione?"

"Omph her pway," Ron managed in a muffled sound, a robe half-tugged over his head.

Harry spared only a mildly sympathetic look for his friend, before glancing back at Hagrid. "Bookstore," he clarified. "Show her what?" Curiosity did drive the question. The girl must be a first year or really young. He was sure he would have remembered that name at least.

But in the back of his mind he felt a twinge of pity.

Generally there was only one reason for why Hagrid took anyone to get school supplies, and he was all too familiar with such things.

At least Hagrid will show them a good time, he mused, remembering his first trip to Diagon Alley. He opened his mouth to ask if they were from a wizarding or Muggle family, concluding that it must be a first year from the way Hagrid was still babbling on about them.

"Ah there ya are," Hagrid boomed, cutting him off at the pass.

He followed Hagrid's gaze towards the fitting rooms, taking in the relatively busy store as he looked for the first year, only-

Harry got distracted.

Very distracted.

A not unfamiliar sensation hit him like a bludger, his stomach twisting oddly as his gaze landed on a slim figure, golden dress robes cascading loosely down her long legs. The way they clung to her left little to the imagination, a golden cascade of long hair spilling around her shoulders, Harry's mouth suddenly dry.

Harry was fairly certain that he was staring. He needed to stop and focus on the first year Hagrid was with, but-

The girl was glancing around the store hesitantly, looking almost lost, Harry dragging in a quick breath as he contemplated girls. He'd thought Hermione had looked good in dress robes, but damn. This girl was stunning, in an offbeat sort of way. Her features were rather plain, but there was sodding something about her, the way the robes clung to her, the way her delicate hands were lifting the hem of her robes, revealing tanned ankles as she moved towards them.

The hell of it was she wasn't stopping. Ron's grunt was the only thing that kept him from outright gaping as she came to stand right by him, biting her lip nervously, eyes directed at Hagrid.

"So you found some eh?" Hagrid asked, shooting Harry a wide grin, failing to notice that he had become a mute.

The girl nodded slowly, her eyes glancing at him appraisingly for a second before flickering away, so swiftly that Harry barely caught the gesture. "If you could call it finding..." she murmured, glancing at the robes as if she fully didn't trust them. "It was more like being attacked with this..." She lifted the hem of the robe for emphasis, a hint of sarcasm mixing in her otherwise pleasant speaking voice.

"And my assistant did a fine job young lady. That color suits you," Madam Maulkin chimed out, shocking him back to his senses. Harry silently thanked her, and glanced over to see that she was still indeed, judging by his friend's pained expression, torturing Ron.

Harry shook his head whimsically at the sight, glancing back at the girl in front of him, thinking that Madam Maulkin had a point about the color suiting her. Her dark, golden hair cascaded loosely past her shoulders, several shorter strands framing her face, lightly brushing her collar bone. All of it was barely discernable from the silky robe material clinging to her willowy figure.

Briefly he wondered if it were a blessing or a crime to allow girls out like that.

He pulled his gaze back to Hagrid, loath to be caught staring.

Fortunately Hagrid had not noticed, and the girl was too busy bickering with him.

Spying that his attention was again re-focused, Hagrid shot him a strained grin. "Ah well... Harry, Ron, this 'ere be Kalliandra. She'll be goin' to Hogwarts this fall to."

"Youffa meanuh uh transforra?" Ron's muffled voice called out from under the new cotton sheath that Maulkin was vigorously forcing over his head. "Weff neffa haf uh transsfuh befuh."

"What?" Hagrid and him immediately shot out, not understanding one word.

"You have a very...large...head..." Maulkin muttered with each subsequent yank, and Hagrid's guffaw of laughter drowned out Ron's indignant retort. Harry glanced back at Kalliandra to see her watching the spectacle, a hint of a smile tracing its way across her lips.

"I asked..." Ron's slightly aggravated voice called out clearly, "if she was a transfer, because we've never had one before."

Harry turned back to Kalliandra, to see the slight smile that had seconds ago graced her features vanish.

The look she now bore stirred something within him...but what? He could not put his finger on it, but he now found himself staring at the top of her head, for she had begun pointedly looking down at the floor.

Maybe she had found Ron' question offensive, though he couldn't imagine why. He shot Hagrid a quizzical look, hoping he'd clarify things since Kalliandra didn't seem about to do so.

"Yev're had transfers, jerst fer other Houses."

Harry frowned, "Then why did we never see them sorted?"

"Yeamph, wuff weff neevah seen 'em..." Ron grumbled, his robe once again muffling his words.

Hagrid eyed Ron with no small amount of amusement. "Well that'd be cause they came in the middle of the yer. Can't have erm sorted at the sortin' when they've missed it already."

"Oof!" Ron grunted, extricating himself from the excess fabric. "So why the transfer? Did her parents move or something?"

This time it wasn't Harry's imagination.

The girl glanced up, Harry catching sight of her actual eyes for the first time. They were hazel, almost golden, the coloration matching her hair so perfectly, so dead on that it was almost unnatural. It was like looking at a reverse veela, only instead of the teasing lust that he'd grown so familiar with when looking at Fleur there was something else…

It struck him suddenly, a shock he had been ill prepared for, for her eyes held a trace of the familiar. A shadow, so closely akin to the haunted look of Sirius' swam within her fiery orbs, Harry near shaken to the core at the familiarity.

The girl's gaze caught his, looking like a deer-in-headlights for a long second.

In the next she was looking away, her long lashes already framing almond-shaped eyes, concealing them from his view.

Harry felt like he'd been hit with another bludger, staring blatantly.

"Well," Ron questioned, generally oblivious, "family move?"

"Yeah, somethin' like that," Hagrid said suspiciously, sounding rather similar to the way he had whenever he was keeping something from them.

Like a full grown giant in the woods...

Or a three headed dog...

Or a pet dragon...

Seeing a half giant squirm beneath one's gaze would normally be quite a funny occurrence, but it simply made Harry nervous as Hagrid continued shuffling his feet, mumbling about proper introductions, while the girl remained extremely quiet.

Harry feigned a polite smile, extending his hand to the girl at Hagrid's insistence. "Nice to meet you."

She hesitated for the briefest of seconds, before finally extending her hand as well, eyes flickering back to his again. "Hi…"

Harry's fingers closed around hers, unable to shake the feeling that something within her gaze seemed haunted, his mouth dry.

"Y-yes," he got out, releasing her warm hand quickly, chills shooting through him. "So um…Hogwarts, yeah?"

The blithering imbecile in him around girls had decided to rear its head with a blunt statement of the obvious, complete with stammering. Great.

He idiocy was rewarded by the girl's strained, polite smile flickering, disappearing abruptly. Instead she was now biting down on her lower lip, nodding ever-so-slightly, as if pitying the blithering boy standing in front of her.

"Oh blimey!" Hagrid gasped hurriedly, both startling Harry from his thoughts and sparing him having to say anything. "Kalliandra do ye mind if I leave ye 'ere with them for a minute? I won't be a tick. Just forgot to do somethin' but won't be long."

Damn't. Apparently he would have to try that 'formulating words' thing again.

It was a wonder Hagrid had even asked, because he was already waving goodbye to all three of them, not waiting for a response, and from the malevolent glare that Kalliandra shot him, he really couldn't blame him.

"It's not a choice if he's already run out, is it?" she muttered, her eyes narrowing after Hagrid and no longer holding the haunted quality of before. Maybe it had never been there. Maybe Harry had outright imagined it. He really ought to have slept longer... With all his turbulent thought as of late running through his mind he simply wasn't thinking straight.

That had to be it.

"It may have been important," he pointed out awkwardly.

"Yes, you're probably right..." she said faintly, her voice so soft he scarcely heard her, though her surprisingly gentle intonations did nothing to stop the harsh quality of her glare as her narrowed eyes followed Hagrid's retreating form. In fact, she was still shooting daggers out the door as the assistant yanked her over to the open fitting platform besides Ron seconds later.

Harry decided not to dwell on the look he had seen, the one so painfully familiar to Sirius. It had probably been his imagination, so he contented himself with trying to decide which of the two looked more disgruntled. Kalliandra kept shutting her eyes, as if frightened by the enchanted tape measure flicking around her head, while Ron kept shooting scowls at Madam Maulkin.

"You know we've never had a transfer before. At least not one that I can remember, right Harry?" Ron stated, glaring down at Maulkin as she marked his cuffs with chalk, determining the length of his sleeves.

He was about to agree when Kalliandra cut him off.

"Well, you've obviously had one now."

The assistant flicked her wand, shortening Kalliandra's robes slightly. It was all Harry could do to avoid cursing the assistant. Girl's robes should get no shorter...

"You know that won't bite?"

Harry found that oddly comical, considering that Ron had been ducking the very thing himself, but at least his friend had not been standing chalk still like a deer in headlights.

Kalliandra had though.

She opened her eyes, arching an inquisitive eyebrow at Ron rather than answering him, and Harry noticed her visibly flinch as the flying tape measure zoomed close again.

Ron's brow furrowed slightly at her lack of responsiveness. "The tape measure...that's what I meant," he s stated awkwardly, looking at her as if waiting for confirmation that she had indeed, heard him.

She just nodded, turning her head to look out the door. Ron shot him an annoyed, 'Can you believe this?' look.

He had to admit Ron had a point, she did not seem very personable, and did not seem too excited about talking, so he wasn't about to force her. Yet something about her aroused his curiosity. If only he could put his finger upon it...he was fairly certain it had nothing to do with the fact that he was having trouble not staring at her.

Several minutes passed, the awkward silence broken only by Ron's random outbursts of displeasure, and Kalliandra's quiet responses to the assistant's questions. Unsurprisingly she was the first one done, and he found himself having a hard time not staring again, particularly given that the dress robes were now completely fitted around her form. The thing was classy, elegant, and practically form fitting.

Harry swallowed and cursed Madam Malkin to the seven circles of hell.

"Hey how come she got done so quick?" Ron asked indignantly, as Kalliandra made her way back to the changing rooms, the bottom of her dress robe gathered in her hands as she walked carefully. She seemed unused to walking in something of the sort.

"Because she, unlike some of my customers, actually held still while we measured her," the seamstress quipped from where she knelt on the floor, using her wand to make minor adjustments to the hem of Ron's robe.

She flashed Harry an inconspicuous wink, and he barely caught it, smiling slightly at her before glancing back to see Kalliandra disappear behind a changing room curtain. He couldn't help but feel slightly relieved. He did not want to be caught staring at her, and he knew he'd be a lot less prone to doing that once she was out of that damnable robe.

Of course he was wrong, because when she re-emerged he found the short sleeved top she wore to be no better than the low cut lines of the robe.

"Ahem."

He tore his eyes away from where she stood by the counter, to see a disapproving Ron shaking his head firmly and gagging. He appeared to be mouthing, 'No' at him.

Come to think of it, Ron seemed to be making a disgusted face as well.

Harry failed to have the chance to so much as shrug in response to Ron's repulsive like gestures in the girl's direction, before a quiet clatter broke the relative silence of the room. He turned to see Kalliandra squatting down on the floor, picking up tiny pins in her hands.

The bemused assistant stood behind the counter, bearing a slight smile. "Oh honey, thank you, but don't worry about that. I'm as clumsy as can be..." The assistant flicked her wand and the little pins scattered all over the place disappeared, reappearing into the pin cushion held in Kalliandra's hand.

"See, I'm knocking stuff over all the time," the assistant continued, while the girl stared at the now filled pin cushion, biting her lower lip, confusion etched into each of her features.

He didn't fail to notice it.

It's like she's never seen magic before…

There was no time to follow that absurd train of thought, for Kalliandra had already stood, thanked the woman, and disappeared out the front entrance with her bag.

"Wasn't she supposed to wait for Hagrid?" Ron asked after a moment's pause, brow wrinkled confusedly.

Ron was right, she was supposed to wait for Hagrid. Harry hesitated a moment, an internal debate waging until curiosity got the better of him. Wasting no more time he jumped from his seat and went after her.

He wanted to see where she was going.


	3. Entangled Webs

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The witch actually frowned. “Hagrid’s friend…” she stated, as if to herself. “What-what are you doing here?”  
> “The name’s,” he ground tersely, “Harry. And apparently saving your ass. Now I repeat…what…were you…doing…here?” He annunciated it very clearly, very slowly, making sure the apparently in-shock witch grasped the very simple question he was tossing out.

**Chapter 3 ~ Entangled Webs**

Traversing her way through the swarming, cobblestone streets of Diagon Alley, she let out an unsteady breath.

To her core she had been undeniably, inexplicably, _shaken._   She had been shaken all because of a scattered pile of pins upon the flooring of a garment shop, and her own miserable attempts to rectify a clerk's clumsiness.

_Magic._

Yet again it had been unceremoniously thrown in her face, for wizards and witches had it at their disposal.

The sooner she became accustomed the better.

Rifling a hand nervously through her hair, her gold-colored gaze glancing around the street, she hesitated. She didn't quite _grasp_ how a magical government could sanction killings, but it was enough to make her feel sick. Now here she was, in a veiled world of sorcery, surrounded by those who were _magical_ , and she was entirely _helpless._

The story Hagrid had told her had honestly made her think of her history courses pertaining to _Hitler_ , where those not completely part of the master race were killed for not being 'ideal.'

Well, she certainly wasn't ideal. Unable to draw upon the typical magical reservoirs, she was capable of only doing _one_ magic trick, and somehow she didn't see how it could _ever_ be considered a good thing.

It had brought her only _pain._

Inside she felt numb, deadened, despite the rhythmic pounding within her chest. It angered her. It angered her to her _core,_ for they had died, and she had lived. Hagrid had told her some nonsense about survivor's guilt. That didn't change anything.

It wasn't _fair._

Swallowing, feeling _unsteady_ , she wanted desperately to get away, to somewhere where everything was just a distant nightmare.

She couldn't though. She just…

_Couldn't._ Not while those who had taken _so much_ were still breathing, still _free._ But to do anything about it…

The adults around her needed to stop _protecting_ her. She needed information, _real_ information. She needed to know what she had. A _mutation_ they'd called it. She had half choked on a sob to have something so ugly called something so benign.

At least Hagrid had left her alone for a little while. It was why she had left, fleeing in hopes of traversing her way through the densely packed streets.  Making her way towards the looming marble building, the golden words _Gringotts Bank_ emblazoned across its ivory surface, she crumpled the map she had made in one fist.  The pillar of the wizarding commercial society emerged over the heads of the crowd, and that was her landmark.

The supporting columns leaned in various directions, the haphazard support of the upper levels strengthened with the sorcery filling the streets, and per her instructions her golden eyes followed the line of the lowest tower's angle.

It pointed her to where she wanted to go.

Turning down the dark alley she noted a rickety sign suspended above its entry bearing the jaggedly carved words _Knockturn Alley_.

She had been forewarned of its shady characteristics. She had carefully listened to Hagrid's babbling about it, about how he hated to venture down it each time he found himself in need of Flesh Eating Slug Repellant, and about how objects of the illicit variety could be procured there.

Hell, she _was_ an object of the illicit variety. If there was anywhere to find acceptance within the society that demanded swift execution for those of her nature it would be here. No wonder there weren't many _recorded_ ones in wizarding history.

Hagrid had assured her there had probably been, but they had either sensibly stayed hidden or died far too young as a result of the mutation itself.

Well wasn’t natural selection just a real bitch?

The wizarding realm, like nature, was rather unforgiving to half-breeds and mutants.

Hagrid had been none the wiser to why she had been so curious about Knockturn, content to answer her every question about the dingy alleyway. He had even inadvertently supplied her with the name of the man to whom she wished to speak, _Mr. Borgin._

Borgin had been kind enough to supply her with everything she needed: directions, assurance of an informational book, and his silence.

Standing in front of the alley, its shadows stretching onto the sun-kissed cobblestone of Diagon Alley, she steeled herself.

Then she walked into the shadows.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * 

"You know Kinglsey loosening up could do you _wonders_. I mean really, when was the last time you took an honest vacation?"

Kingsley Shacklebolt let out an incensed huff, raucously shoving his way through the thick crowd grunting about insubordination. Tonks only recourse was to roll her eyes, further darkening the reddened hue that her boss' face was beginning to take on.

"Nymp-ha- _dora_ ," Kingsley grunted, sounding strained, "if you _ever_ …"

"Kingsley, Harry is perfectly capable of taking care of himself for more than five minutes," she said amicably. "And besides, how was I supposed to pick up Remus' birthday gift for hi.."

" _Tonks…_

Casting a sidelong glance at the senior Order member she came to a halt in the center of traffic, ignoring the protestations of the witches and wizards around them, who were now being forced to walk a full two feet to the side to avoid them. For all their complaining one would think she was inciting a riot, not stopping for a chat with her slightly formidable boss.

Speaking of Kingsley, he looked like he was either suppressing the desire to throttle her, or in the beginning stages of cardiac arrest.

Frowning she regarded him concernedly. "Are you familiar with hypertension Kingsley?"

A large vein was beginning to pulse in the man's forehead, and he leaned low. " _Damn't Tonks!_ " he hissed. "This is _not_ a game!"

She nodded, squinting up at the taller figure in the bright sunlight. "A fact I'm well aware of," she said pointedly, her previous pretenses of humor vanishing, "but the Order is constantly hovering over Harry, convinced that he is an incompetent 16 year old. Yet I have _never_ heard of a 16 year old who has survived as mu…"

A rather large hand clamped over her mouth, and she found herself being roughly drug away from the cobblestone streets into a back alley, away from the ears of passersby.

"Tonks you should know better than to…"

"Than to what?" she shot back in frustration. "Than to discuss what Harry has been through in the open?"

She did not even wait for his nod of affirmation before continuing on her tirade. "Why should we be silent Kingsley? Lord knows these ignorant people need a wake up call, not that the Ministry is giving them one with their censorship of the papers and…"

With an audible crinkling Kingsley shoved a copy of the Daily Prophet into her hands, watching her closely as she unfolded it, discovering it to be the latest issue that she had not yet read.

_Twenty Seven Muggles Die Mysteriously in the Spanse of a Fortnight. Is He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named responsible?_

Her mouth fell open, forming a small 'O' of understanding.

"That's right," Kingsley stated for her. "They are finally reporting the _facts_. Fudge can't censor them any longer, not with all the eyewitness accounts of the Ministry employees from…"

"That night," she whispered, knowing full well to what he referred. The scar tissue across her chest would forever serve as a striking reminder to her carelessness in dueling with her aunt. It had taken half of the summer, laid up in St. Mungos, for her to make a full recovery from the blows she had been dealt.

Remus had been her only source of sanity during that time, as he had been on the night they had combed through the grotesquely charred yard of an isolated Muggle home, searching for survivors.

The month old picture of that terrible scene was now burned beneath the front page's blinking headlines, the water pooling upon the pavement darkened with what she knew to be blood.

_The poor souls had never had a chance._

Clenching the tabloid between her hands she met her boss' gaze. "Look," she whispered, forcing her voice calm, "I _know_ the Order is concerned about Harry. But he has proven more than competent in situations that most Aurors have yet to face, _and_ he's come out alive and…"

"And in the process put _half_ the Order in grievous danger!" Kingsley boomed angrily. "All due to his impulsive, brash, ill-thought…

"Actions," she supplied, ignoring how his eye twitched. "But how does the Order expect him to learn to make decisions if we are always hovering over him?"

His eyes widened considerably, "In war there is no room for mistakes."

"Who said he was making them?"

Kingsley began pacing up and down the Apothecary's side alley. "No one, but you have to admit the child is…"

"Teenager," she corrected. "Given he'll be of age in less than a year and after _all_ he's experienced one can hardly call him even that."

"Is it possible," he said through gritted teeth. "For you to _not_ interrupt me?"

"I'll take it under consideration," she replied, leaning against the dirty brick wall, content to bask in its shade for a moment of respite from the August heat.

Kingsley's next tirade was unintelligible, though she did catch the words 'irresponsibility', 'insubordinate', and 'damn't girl'.

Slowly she began banging her head against the brick siding.

"…and it was _your_ job to watch over them today. But when I come to check on things what do I find? _You!_ Alone! In the Quidditch shop purchasing some ridiculously pointless Snitch…"

"It is not _just_ a Snitch!" she interjected, halting the assault on her skull. "It's a collector's edition! _And_ Remus ordered it a month ago for Harry, special order! They had to make it to Remus' _exact_ specifications, and we thought it would be a nice surprise to pick it up while out toda…"

"Oh grand!" Kingsley burst out, throwing his hands up. "Perhaps you explain your reasoning to the Order when Death Eaters attack and take them away!"

She groaned, resuming the thumping of her head. "Kingsley the _Order_ would do well to realize that Harry is nearly of age. He's nearly an _adult_ and nothing is going to happen while he and Ron are being fitted for robes."

Kingsley stopped pacing abruptly. "And what of the girl?"

"You mean Ginny?"

The man let out a sound oddly reminiscent of a hippogriff in heat, stomping the ground and sending a slew of dust scattering into the air. "Who do you _think_ I mean!? What other girl were you to chaperone today?! Focus for just a _second_ would you Nympha…"

"We ran into her boyfriend," Tonks hastened to inform, unwilling to hear that cursed name again. "So she is spending the rest of the afternoon with the Finnigans."

"And the boys?"

She smirked. "Being fawned over by Madame Maulkin."

Despite his fury Kingsley gave an involuntary shudder. It was a well-known fact in his department that he hated all things related to formal attire, with a particular aversion to those who made such things their profession.

Tonks smile only widened further, her pupils narrowing into small ovular slits, eyes yellowing like a cats. "See Kingsley? They're perfectly safe. No self-respecting Death Eater would venture into there."

Kingsley just groaned, "Tonks because of you I am considering early retirement. Only I _can't_ because as much as I hate to admit it, after me you have seen the most 'action' in the department and would be my successor."

Tonks jaw dropped at the admission, a bellowing laugh resonating from Shacklebolt's large form.

"Speechless are we? Well hell has indeed frozen over; either that or your nose of the day prevents proper breathing."

Her hand flew to her crooked nose, pondering what was wrong with it. She had spied a copy of Witch Weekly earlier that day, and while she was not one for fashion she had seen this week's headline: _Crooked Nose Curses, In or Out of Season?_

Naturally she had spent the morning wandering around, telling anyone within earshot that Rita Skeeter had cursed her, just to see the mingled reactions.

The boys had at least found it entertaining.

Kingsley's loud cough drew her attention back, where he had adopted a rather exasperated glare.

"You do see my dilemma don't you?"

Eyeing his nose she nodded. "Yup, you've got a crooked nose too. I hear those Muggle nutters have some great techniques for remedying tho…"

Kingsley stomped his foot again. "See? This is _exactly_ what I mean! Your attention span is bordering on the non-existent and you're always usurping authority in favor of whatever your whim of the moment is! In this case it's the, 'the kids can take care of themselves' whim! That's precisely why I can't retire early! You're nowhere near ready for such a position and there is no one else with enough combat experience to recommend!"

She grimaced as his tones went unusually high for a man of his girth.

"Are you even listening?"

"Yes Boss."

"Don't call me that."

"Your Supremacy?"

Kingsley's eye twitched. "Don't…"

"I'm just taking your advice. I thought authority figures liked to be addressed…"

"One more word and a 'Nympadora' sign is going to wind up with a permanent sticking charm on your front door."

She sobered immediately.

"And stop banging your head."

She stopped that to.

"And don't squirm."

Suppressing a groan she resisted the temptation, her discomfort level rising exponentially. Movement was the only thing sufficient for quelling her often frazzled nerves in Shaklebolt's presence. He knew this, and was intentionally depriving her of it.

Good Godric, if he was this bad with her she would hate to be a suspect for some abhorrent crime. No wonder they normally came out of questioning twitching.

Contenting herself with incrementally elongating and shortening her nails, the process concealed by the woven bag her fingers were curled around, she arched a questioning eyebrow to which Kingsley immediately responded.

"I'm going with you."

With an indrawn groan she turned, carefully stepping over the trash that had been carelessly tossed, missing the alley's garbage bin, and stopped dead.

Passing the opening where the side alley converged with Diagon Alley's bustling main avenue was a familiar head of dark hair, and Harry was sprinting along at a healthy gait.

"He can watch out for himself can he?"

Without a word she ignored the sarcastic jibe, taking off after Harry with murderous intent. Of all the ill-fated timing that one could have, she had the worst. Harry just _had_ to pick now to run off, and she had every intention of strangling him once she got a hold of him.

Of course she may have to stun him first, considering he had grown considerably to tower several inches above her, making him significantly faster.

Aw hell, she'd always been good at stunning.

As they shoved their way through the street, Kingley's golden loop earring glinting in the sunshine, she began ticking off the various ways to kill or torture him. For out of all the Order members she was his strongest proponent when it came to the degree of independence he should be afforded. After all, she had attested to Harry's ability to distinguish when it was or was not appropriate to wander off in public places. However, with Kingsley standing behind her, Harry was proving her wrong yet again. She could only imagine the self-satisfied smile crossing Kingsley's face, and after he mentioned this to the Order…

Her appeal to let Harry in on more of the Orders' activities would probably be rejected, yet _again_.

This little stunt of his was going to cost him more than he knew.

"I'm going to kill him when I get a hold of him," Kingsley grumbled behind her, wrinkling his nose at the mingled scents stemming from the apothecary.

"Not if I get a hold of him first," Tonks grumbled, thinking on how this little stroll of his would probably cost Harry his allowance into the Order, and he would never even know it.

She began muttering in dangerous undertones, for she'd make damn sure he found out.

Fixing her eyes to the back of his head, she shortened her hair up her neck, and began experimenting with noses. It wasn't until she spotted the old woman calmly perusing the selection of animal food on display outside of Eeylops Owl Emporium that she was struck with an excellent idea.

"Excuse me mam, I'm going to need to commandeer that cane of yours."

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * 

The new witch had just ducked into Knockturn Alley.

Harry swore under his breath. Great. Just _great_. Not only was the witch, one Hagrid had implied he wanted him to watch out for, not the most personable she was clearly insane. He’d ventured down there accidentally in the past, and it wasn’t an experience he was eager to repeat.

Then again, judging from the way Hagrid had been treating this girl, it seemed she was new to the hive that was Diagon Alley, and she very well may have just made a grievous, and possibly life threatening, mistake.

Harry swore under his breath and took off after her.

It was a marvel he had seen where she went at all, considering the horde swarming around him. Diagon Alley was a mad house.  Younger years were screaming off items they would need for the start of term to frazzled parents, most of whom were doing admirable balancing acts with newly purchased cauldrons, books, and potions supplies, while others were just bellowing back and forth across the street to try to keep tabs on one another. He had to all but shoulder people aside even to _make_ it to the dark, shadowy entrance to Knockturn.

Harry briefly debated the merits of shouting down it to get her attention, but decided against that just as quickly. Given how loud it was the only thing _that_ would result in would be having either a bunch of Diagon Alley shoppers gawking at the Boy Who Lived, or worse…

He could attract the attention of Death Eaters in Knockturn.

That was assuming the witch even heard him.

Harry pulled out his wand and cast a hasty glamour charm on himself, watching the unruly strand of hair hanging across his forehead and over his eyes lighten to a muted brown. Quickly he brushed as much of it over his forehead as possible, not keen to be recognized within the disreputable area he was now traversing through.

The dark entrance was rather twisted, the space narrow and curving every few feet. He’d lost sight of her, Harry internally swearing. Without any other recourse he actually slowed down, glancing at each shop as he moved past, hoping to remain unnoticed.

A cadaver toe was suddenly shoved in front of his face, Harry balking. Ultimately he had to actually _grunt_ at the haggard looking woman to drive home the point that he indeed did _not_ want to buy the things she’d stolen off corpses at the morgue.

"Maybe next time young lad, next time…" she hawked after him, driving his pace to increase.

And increase it did, just in time for him to see Kalliandra disappearing through the entrance of Borgin & Burkes.

_Borgin & Burkes?_

Harry flat out _paused_ , not sure what to actually do here. She was clearly _new_ to the school, and had been with Hagrid. That typically wasn't for any _good_ reason. He would know. She probably didn’t realize what kind of shop she’d just gone into. But-

Images of the Department of Mysteries assaulted him. _Hermione being hexed, Tonks, Sirius…_

Making a hasty, possibly _bad_ decision, Harry crept past the shaded windows displaying Borgin & Burkes on 'special' items, casting a surreptitious glance through the dirt covered panes.

In the back of his mind he could already hear Hermione scolding him, but really he had no sodding clue what he was supposed to do in this type of situation. Hagrid had specifically asked them to show her…well he hadn’t finished what he had been saying but Harry had figured it’d have something to do with showing her around Hogwarts.

That could extend to Diagon Alley, couldn’t it?

Glamour charm or not, he was fairly certain if he stormed into Borgin and Burkes like this that the shopkeeper _would_ still recognize him.  That would go badly. That would go _very_ badly.

Cursing under his breath he decided to just hang out and _wait._ He’d hunker down outside and just…wait it out.  He could at least intercept her when she came out.

Then he could haul her ass back to Diagon Alley to provide a quick, verbal history lesson about _why_ Knockturn Alley wasn’t a good place to get lost in.

He dropped down to the filthy ground, ducking behind some large crates.  Harry’s back thudded against one, the window directly in front of his face.  The image was vague, distorted by the thick layer of grime coating the glass, but he could actually still _see_ inside it. 

Hell he could actually _hear_ too.

Kalliandra was approaching the proprietor; the man knelt behind the counter, his hands rummaging through his glass display case like a rat in a hole. Harry reached into his pocket, gripping his wand just in case.

He really had no idea what he was doing at this juncture, but a combination of paranoia from years past, over-protectiveness of anyone Hagrid liked that was an actual _human_ –with Hagrid that was an important distinction to make, given his non-human friends had a long history of trying to kill him - and fear of having to talk directly _to_ this girl was all encouraging him to just hang out here.

Great. Brave Gryffindor _indeed._ He would have scoffed if he wasn’t already busy trying to be quiet.

Through a rare clear spot in the grime-coated pane he saw Kalliandra talking, an indistinct word falling from her, and with a sudden jolt of movement the man inside stood, mouth spluttering indistinct words in a hoarse fashion. 

He’d moved so quickly that Harry had actually gone for his wand, only stopping when he realized that she _wasn’t_ getting hexed.

Not that he could tell given how grimy the window was. If she was about to get hexed he wouldn’t see in time.

Silently Harry cursed women.

Then he crept forward, getting closer and keeping his head down low, allowing the crates and an overturned cart to conceal him from the majority of the scant traffic upon the alley. There were _many_ things about this particular plan he wasn’t a fan of, but then again he didn’t exactly have a better one.

Storm in, get recognized, and get hexed.

Storm in, somehow _not_ get recognized, and still probably get hexed when the witch felt all but stalked.  

For the thousandth time Harry wondered why he was friends with Hagrid.

Hunkering down, closer enough to actually hear pieces of conversation driving through the thin, flaking wood paneling upon the establishment's exterior, Harry hesitated.  He could hear but…

Screw it.

He muttered a charm for hearing enhancement, bringing the ill-boded conversation to life. He couldn’t tell if she was going to get hexed or making a mistake being there if he couldn’t hear.

Later he would consider asking Hermione to hex some generalized common sense into him. Surely there was a way to do that, that would allow him to better deal with these kinds of situations in the future. For now though, through the creaking of aged, rotting wood, Kalliandra's intonations mingled with the proprietor's pacing.

"…ank you for getting this on such short notice. I appreciate your honesty on it.”

"I have _little_ use for honesty, and much for business," rasped the man, whose voice Harry now recognized to be that of Borgin's Proprietor, Mr. Borgin himself. "Your correspondence was intriguing."

"Thanks," she replied hesitantly, supplying a half-hearted. "It’s a research project for school..."

"Mmhmm." The man sounded skeptical, but the sound of his pacing immediately stopped, the creaking of ill-suited flooring ceasing.

"Of course," Borgin's rattled breath shot out. "And my payment?"

Payment? Despite himself Harry slowly slid up the splintery siding, his eyes reaching the sill in time to see her dropping a velvety bag on the counter. It was small enough to have fit inside her back jean pocket.  

Borgins was already opening and inspecting it. "Mmm…” he purred, voice almost rancid.  Harry watched in mute horror as the man reached into the bag, his gnarled fingers slowly extracting something long and thread…

It was a thick lock of hair tied with a string.

The golden shade Harry had already seen before that day, it something he’d had a hell of a lot of trouble yanking his eyes _off,_ his gaze already darting from the tendrils in the clutches of Mr. Borgin’s to Kalliandra’s head.

She was tugging at her own hair, at a perfectly matching strand that was still attached, fidgeting.

So this had been a planned meeting. _Son of a-_

Mr. Borgin’s extracted a single strand from the bundle, tossing it onto the counter, an eye dropper suddenly appearing in his hand.  “You will understand of course,” he sneered, “that I will have to test it.”

Before Kalliandra’s lips could even utter a sound or before Harry had a chance to wonder what the hell he had just stumbled across, the proprietor had held the eye dropper over the strand of hair, Harry barely able to see as a blue fluid dripped out of the eye dropper, falling onto it-

A golden, electric spark fired up on contact, a golden light shooting across the hair along the counter top as if it were an electric wire, cracking _loudly._

Harry actually jumped, his back smacking painfully into an overturned crate.  

Mr. Borgin looked unsurprised though, his gnarled face twisting into a yellow-toothed smile. “Interesting…”

Harry had grabbed onto the windowsill in time see the shopkeeper fixing Kalliandra with a predatory look. “Hair like this doesn't come with _ease,_ my child _."_ The  man was smirking as if he knew something Harry didn’t, taking a step out from around the counter.  "May I ask…” he drawled in continuation, flicking a finger and sending the girl’s hair floating up alongside her head, “how you acquired it?"

Kalliandra’s hair floated up alongside her head, making it look as if she were floating underwater. 

Harry’s breathing grew _tense,_ his grip around his wand tightening. 

"Let's not,” Kalliandra muttered, swatting at her own hair and knocking it back down into place, looking almost _nervous._

Harry tensed, uncertain if he needed to get in there or not.  He forced himself to _wait._ Be strategic. Ron was always babbling about strategy in chess, and timing things…

Kalliandra had taken another step back away from where Borgin’s loomed, the wizard’s hand still in the air, eyes oddly on her.  Her voice sounded hesitant. "And my order…is it ready?"

A racking cough shook the proprietor. “Yes.”

Another moment passed, the proprietor leaning down alongside the counter, the sound of things scuffling, being shifted…

He rose holding a small book, one that looked old, the leather cover almost yellowed with age. Borgin blew on it, dust flying off the top and plooming into the air. Harry squinted, trying to read the title through the grime-covered window pane, but he couldn’t make out the words.

What he could make out was Borgin’s lifting a finger, extending it to Kalliandra and curling it in, the ‘come here and get it’ gesture chilling.

Even through the dirty pane Harry could see her hesitation, witnessing the vulturine glint in Borgin’s eye. And despite this…

Kalliandra took a step forward.

Borgin’s hand snared out with a speed unexpected for his gnarled, aged state, brutally snagging around her wrist, yanking her _forward,_ the golden haired girl letting out a sudden cry.

He’d been wrong. The girl Hagrid was showing around _hadn’t_ known what the hell she was doing here.

Harry was on his feet and bursting through the door in an instant, wand already aimed at the proprietor-

The loud _crack_ barely registered, Borgin’s cursing _loud_ as the witch’s hand made contact with the greasy proprietor’s nose. The shop’s door slammed against the wall with Harry’s entry, sending dust billowing up out of the wooden planked walls. Harry had time to see Borgin grabbing his nose, to register the dangerous growling of, _“You filthy Muggle!”_ and the sudden hand shooting towards a pocket, going for a wand, Kalliandra stumbling back _quickly_ , the witch backing directly _into_ Harry and thudding against his chest accidentally-

He’d grabbed a hold of the girl and shouted a shielding charm a half-second before Borgin’s curse flashed out across the small store front, the hex slamming to a crimson halt a meter in front of their faces. Harry had already snapped, “Stupefy!” straight back, a red bolt flying out and striking the proprietor directly in the chest.

Borgin flew back into the shelfing behind the counter, slamming into it, the wooden shelves breaking, glass shattering.  _Liquid_ from leaking vials and shards from broken casings rained down onto where the bastard disappeared, papers flying up from the counter and scattering wildly, Harry’s grip on Kalliandra’s arm hard, fast.

It happened fast enough that Harry lacked the time to register that he was absolutely going to _kill_ Hagrid.   

Gaze locked on Borgin’s, he didn’t register that the witch was staring at him until he’d already shoved her aside, taking the four steps forwards to make sure that Borgin’s was indeed _down_ and unconscious. He _was_.

A second later Harry had snapped a locking charm at the doorway, a shading charm at the window to obscure the scene to anyone who might peer in. It didn’t take much given how grimy they already were, but he wasn’t taking chances.

Kalliandra still hadn’t moved, the witch now leaning heavily against the door, blinking at him in the dim, dingy light. For a second Harry stood there, muscles taut, not entirely sure what the hell to say now that he was face-to-face with the witch.

Oddly his mouth felt dry again.

A page from a rather destroyed bookkeeping log floated down, landing on the counter in front of Harry, a list of customers clearly printed on it. He glanced at it for a _second._

The entire list was full of the names of known Death Eaters, ones _he_ knew of, even if the Ministry disagreed.

There was only one name on it that failed to match.

_Kalliandra Kaylens._

Until then Harry had been preoccupied with whether the witch was getting herself in over her head or not.  Now he was just irritated, the sight of her name on a ledger, alongside those of Death Eaters, making something in him twist. 

“What,” he grated bluntly, a lantern swinging creakily overhead, “were you thinking?”

Those sodding _eyes_ of hers flickered from where Borgin’s feet stuck out from behind the counter and back up to him rather abruptly, as if she’d not realized he was even there. The fact that she was still blinking at him, stunned, had him actually growl. “ _Well_?”

The witch actually frowned. “Hagrid’s friend…” she stated, as if to herself. “What-what are you doing here?”

“The name’s,” he ground tersely, “Harry. And apparently saving your ass. Now I repeat…what…were you…doing…here?” He annunciated it very clearly, very slowly, making sure the apparently in-shock witch _grasped_ the very simple question he was tossing out.

Harry considered it a win, given he’d advanced beyond staring and stammering, and could at the very least formulate words in front of her.

A spider-web coated candelabra swung creakily overhead.

There it was again: that shadow he’d caught a glimpse of back at Malkin’s. “Picking something up,” she murmured by ways of explanation. “But how did you-”

The dust still loomed in the air, something dripping in the background. Harry was listening for her answer, stepping back and over Borgin’s unconscious body and peering into the back to make sure there was no one else in the back of the shop. 

They were alone. Heaving a breath he stormed back out to the counter, taking care to avoid stepping in any of the spilled substances. Several strange, glowing glass balls that _hadn’t_ broken were rolling around on the floor, buzzing like angry flies. “Hagrid told me to watch out for you,” he told, answering her truncated sentence. “Only didn’t realize he was being quite so _literal_.”

Which reminded him…he now had to add _chicks_ to the list of Hagrid’s friends that he had to be suspicious over. He wasn’t sure which was worse: her or the spider. At least the spiders were upfront about trying to eat them. This girl just wandered off and started random wand fights. Speaking of…

“Where in the nine hells if your wand?” he demanded, staring at her empty hands. He looked up, catching her gaze. “Were you seriously just planning to stand there and _let_ him hex you?” The Decree for the Restriction of Underage Wizardry had been _repealed_ in light of Voldemort’s return. It wasn’t like she had to be afraid to get arrested.

And even if it hadn’t been, they were in Knockturn-freaking- _Alley_. There was so much magic going on here there would be no way for the Ministry of Magic to tell who had cast what.

A dim voice in the back of his head, one that sounded oddly like Hermione’s, pointed out that he should probably be asking if she was okay. 

Unfortunately there was still the slightly more pressing matter of getting out of there without anyone realizing they’d hexed Borgin.

The witch was just shaking her head, slowly, as if catching up on things. “I- it’s in my pocket.”

“Lot of good it’ll do you there,” Harry grunted.

“At least I hit him!”

The sudden annoyance in her tone was noticeable, Harry dragging a frustrated hand over his head and shoving his hair out of his eyes. “Oh yeah, because a broken nose is really going to stop him from nailing you with an unforgivable in the back.”

Her brow furrowed deeply. “A what?”

Harry blinked, staring. “An unforgivable curse.”

The witch’s expression turned unreadable, her left hand clenching into a fist. “Sure…one of those.” Before Harry even had a chance to start in on _that_ she’d narrowed her eyes, a suspicious glare leveled on him. “So wait…Hagrid told you to _follow_ me?”

Harry froze behind the counter. “More,” he bit, “or less.”

“Well which is it, more or less?”

Pausing as if mulling it over, he grimaced. “I take it a thank you wouldn’t be coming anytime soon?” he instead drawled, rather than answering.

Her lips had parted in seeming shock. “So you were spying on me.”

“More like,” he told, “protectively guarding.”

“And eavesdropping.”

 “Yeah well, Mr. Borgin’s and I aren’t exactly close, personal _buddies_ like the two of you. So when you went in here I wasn’t exactly jumping at the chance to come in and say hi, so figured I’d wait outside until you two were done.”  He shot her a wry look and gave Borgin’s leg a pointed nudge with his foot. “Obviously that didn’t go as planned.”

The girl was staring at him, as if she hadn’t heard anything else he’d just said.   “You weren’t,” she stated slowly, dangerously, “outside. I _looked_.”

He glance dup from where he’d been glaring at Borgin.  The dark wizard’s arm had landed in a puddle of purple potion and was starting to develop boils. His head jerked up finally, frowning at her. “You looked?”

“Yes. Out the window, before he even started talking.”

It took Harry a second to process what that actually meant, and then he realized… “You were checking to see if anyone would overhear,” he stated, dumbfounded. She had been paranoid. She just hadn’t seen him since he’d been hunkering down low to wait, so no one in the alley would see him.

Well hell, his desire to not be seen by anyone _in_ Knockturn had resulted in him not being seen by the person he was _trying_ to get the attention of. Unbelievable.

“Un-” she stated, giving voice to his own thoughts, “believable.”

Harry ignored that, snatching up the velvety bag of _hair._ “Is this _yours_?” he demanded, not giving a sodding damn if he was crossing a boundary. It didn’t take a large leap of logic to figure out that it belonged to her. He’d never seen that hair color before so he doubted she had found a random relative and convinced them to hack off some of their own tresses. “Do you have any idea what someone like Borgin’s could do with this?”

Outside an elderly witch could be heard cackling loudly, Kalliandra still leaning heavily against the door and staring at him. “I cut off the roots,” she managed, “so he couldn’t get my DNA.”

He grimaced, brutally telling, “He doesn’t need that to cast a hex on you.”

The girl paled considerably, which led him to another pertinent question.

“Why in the hell did he want your _hair_?”

There were only a few things hair was good for: casting curses and wand making, and he sure as hell doubted wand making was on the agenda given the witch wasn’t a unicorn, so he could only imagine that a curse had to be involved.  Then again, why she’d hand over her hair dumbly to someone for them to curse _her_ downright baffled him.

The girl’s eyes had narrowed.  Only the sound of the balls rolling around and the dripping of vials broke the silence for a long, long moment.  She didn’t move, and neither did he. They both just tensely stood there, staring at one another, Harry’s chest thundering oddly.

The next second found the witch stepping towards him, stopping a meter shy and crouching down to pick up the book that Borgin’s had lured her closer with. In the scuffle it had fallen to the floor. “No offense,” she breathed from her crouched position, “but I don’t think that’s any of your business.”

“Oh my mistake,” he sarcastically managed, “And here I was thinking that when wand fights were erupting it might be nice to get clued in so I’d know exactly _what_ I was hexing someone over.”

Her fingers had wrapped firmly around the leather-binding, the witch now officially full-on glaring at him. Well, this was a record. Harry wasn’t sure he’d ever managed to piss off a witch _quite_ this quickly after meeting her, but he’d accomplished it.

Oddly he didn’t exactly feel _good_ about that, but he was still too irritated to care.

Hell, he wasn’t certain he was actually _really_ standing here, having this conversation. Perhaps he hadn’t woken up this morning and was still sleeping. It was quite possible, particularly given he was having a bit of trouble breathing with her looking at him like that.

Harry gulped, shaking himself mentally and abruptly pointing at the ledger, croaking, “Kaylens? Is that your surname?”

The girl’s brow furrowed, her eyes flickering from him to the shopkeeper’s log, her golden orb’s suddenly widening.

Harry nearly balked when she loudly swore, snatching the page and tearing it out of the ledger.  It disappeared into her pocket before he’d had a chance to so much as blink.

“I’ll take that,” he muttered, “as a yes.”

“He wasn’t supposed to write anything down,” she countered, looking like she wished she hadn’t disclosed that the instant the words left her mouth.

Harry’s mouth opened, only for a loud _bang_ outside the shop to remind him of how bad their current position was. Damn’t.

“Look,” he forced, turning his attention to the matter at hand, “we need to figure out a way to get out of here without anyone seeing that we assaulted Borgins.”

She frowned.  “Why? He attacked me.”

He actually snorted. He outright snorted. “This is Knockturn Alley. No one’s going to care if he tied you up and sliced off your pinkies for resale. They’ll just care that I hexed him.” Casting a glance down at the body, he winced. The bastard’s nose was clearly broken, blood draining sideways down his face. The fact that the witch had resorted to hitting reminded him _briefly_ of Hermione punching Malfoy.

The difference was that Hermione had been smart enough to have her wand out as well.

Harry growled and stepped forward, grabbing her arm and tugging her with him. “Let’s go.”

Kalliandra snatched up her hair, shoving it into her jean’s pocket as he un-locked the door, a second charm sending a bench sliding in front of the counter to block Borgin’s feet. That ought to buy them some time.

He’d hauled her outside a second later, the witch hissing in irritation as they were nearly nailed with a rickety cart.


	4. Seed of Distrust

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "He who angers you conquers you." ~ Elizabeth Kenny ~

 "He who angers you conquers you." ~ Elizabeth Kenny ~

**Chapter 4 ~ Seed of Distrust**

Kally had barely been in the wizarding world a _day,_ Hogwarts excluded, and someone had already attempted to hex her. She wasn’t a hundred percent that this would count as a total fail, since everyone seemed rather wand-happy, but she doubted it was a win.

Harry’s fingers were tight around her sleeve, Kally making a startled sound as she was tugged swiftly down the dark, disreputable looking alleyway.  The hardened look upon his face was disturbing, Kally’s pulse furiously racing.  She was still _scared,_ Borgin’s having drawn a _wand_ on her, that alone leading her to follow this other stranger almost mechanically.

He’d prevented her from being hexed….

It made her want to run in the other direction. 

“Well?” he demanded, keeping his voice down.  He didn’t even glancing at her, his entire focus fixated forward to avoid running into anyone. “What were you _doing_ there? It didn’t look like you accidentally took a wrong turn.”

She didn’t want to answer that. She _wouldn’t._ The truth was she had overheard Hagrid speaking about getting a rather potent anti-doxie spray that could only be obtained in Knockturn Alley, and he’d mentioned the name _Borgins & Burkes. _Apparently that was where he acquired anything strange not normally kept in stock anywhere else, as they specialized in acquiring the ‘off market types, if she knew what he meant.’

She had. Off market was _illegal_ or highly discouraged. 

Naturally she’d obtained the first owl she could and owled the place, asking if there were any books about rare magical species, and in particular Reaches. The proprietor had owled her immediately back, Kally barely snagging it before Hagrid had seen its arrival. Borgins had said he could acquire one, and had offered several suggestions of payment.

Kally had been more than happy to chop some of her own hair off as payment. He’d wanted a magical creature’s hair, and she _was_ one. 

That didn’t mean she would ever admit it belonged to her. She’d chopped off the roots to ensure he couldn’t confirm. The wizard with her, Harry apparently, had said DNA didn’t matter as far as hexes were concerned…

She silently cursed her lack of knowledge of the wizarding world. This had been a stupid, _stupid_ move. She’d been stupid, careless, _reckless._ She’d wanted information and had hoped a stranger at a _shop_.

She felt sick.

“Kalliandra, right?”

Startled and jumping over a random _hole_ in the ground, she nodded quickly, hair falling into her eyes.

The wizard was eyeing her out of the corner of his eye. “So? What were you doing?”

She was almost certain he had overheard her, or at least…enough to possibly work things out.  Shuddering at the sheer thought she forced her tone bitter, annoyed.  She needed him to go away, _quickly._ “Do you always interrogate people you just met?” she questioned, the wizard abruptly changing directions to avoid a woman hawking what looked suspiciously like human _toes_.

“Depends,” Harry responded without missing a beat, “if they’ve nearly gotten my head hexed off or not.”

“Hmph.”

A day-time flying _bat_ buzzed past their heads, its wings brushing by so closely that it sent her hair actually rustling.  Making a startled sound she couldn’t help but _not_ miss his sarcastic comment.

“Welcome to Knockturn Alley, Kalliandra. It’s a real _treat_.”

Her eyes flashed towards him, his fingers still around her arm.  “What were _you_ doing there?” she demanded, almost annoyed.

“Already told you,” the object of her ire muttered, “making sure you didn’t get yourself in over your head. Great job on that,” he caustically added, “by the way.”

“Will you just let go of me already?” This time she hadn’t meant to, but her words came out as a full on snap.

Harry actually slowed down, his gaze fixed determinedly forward as they approached a group of wizards in long, billowing cloaks, their hoods raised over their heads to hide their faces. “Do you have any idea,” he muttered quietly, “what the sort here would do if they caught us?”

“Given how self-absorbed they seem,” she muttered back in kind, “probably nothing.” Catching sight of a rat gnawing on a homeless man’s foot, she winced. “Scratch that, they’d probably loot his store while he was still unconscious.”

The look Harry shot her was somewhat shocking, Kally just biting on her lower lip and fixing her eyes forward. This…

This wasn’t good…

Abruptly Kalliandra pulled her arm _away_ from him, swiftly ducking around a vendor, trying to get away from him as quickly as possible. She didn’t want to know what would happen next. She didn’t want to know what he’d heard. She just wanted to put as much distance between him and herself as possible.

She didn’t want to _be_ here anymore.

Strewing grimy dust in her wake she _moved,_ ignoring his cursing behind her.

Tucking a lock of darkened gold behind her ear, effectively removing the wayward strand from her face, she rounded the first twist in the crooked alley, passing a street vendor selling ears of something that sounded suspiciously like 'house elves'.

A firm grip fell around her upper arm, the calluses on his hand rubbing against her skin as she reflexively _attempted_ to yank her arm away, utterly failing.

The wizard’s grip was unrelenting, Harry already twisting her around to _look_ at her, Kally thudding against him and sucking in a breath.  He made a sound in kind, but the expression he wore…

Things in her chest were pounding hard at how inflexible he looked, his jaw firmly set, looking ready to outright growl.

He didn’t.

Instead he abruptly moved, tugging her after him again and hissing, “What about we need to get out of here didn’t you understand? You were going the wrong way.”

She hadn’t known that. She swallowed, nervous tension riffling through her. She was scared, she knew it.

She needed to get angry.

“I don’t,” she hissed right back, “need led around like a _child_.”

He scoffed. “Sure you don’t.”

Kally made an angry sound, the wizard just snorting as he darted around a cart full of dangling shrunken heads, _still_ hauling him with her. “You know,” he mused aloud, “when you make noises like that you sound just like a harpy.”

She opened her mouth, sputtering.  Whatever a harpy was it wasn’t bound to be _good._

She barely stopped herself from asking what a harpy was.

She couldn’t ask questions. She couldn’t admit to not knowing what things were.

Kally about cursed, but a sudden yelling in the background sent the entire alley moving with renewed commotion and interest. Harry froze, Kally’s feet stopping alongside his, following his gaze down he poorly lit alleyway. Wizards were drawing their wands, cloaks sweeping as they rushed past….

Someone had clearly discovered Borgins.

The dark haired wizard she was with was oddly flattening hair down over his forehead, a man with piercing blue eyes and albino-esque hair turning towards them-

Harry swore, turning and dragging her almost violently off to the side and into an alcove before she could even process what was happening.

A second later Harry shoved her down behind an abandoned beer keg, the wood rotting and reeking of mold. She opened her mouth to shout something angry at him, only for a hand to clamp over her lips, Kally making a muffled, angry sound.

“Shut up,” he hissed, sounding sodding _urgent_.

Something about the way he _said_ it made her actually _listen_ , Kally growing still. _Very_ still. Sitting there, she could hear liquid slosh slightly as Harry shifted, both of his shoes in some puddle of disturbingly brown liquid where he crouched.  Trying to control her breathing it took everything _in_ her to avoid making a sound.

Slowly, _very_ slowly, Harry removed his hand from her mouth, a finger pressing to his lips to request her silence.

The sounds in the alley were louder.

“There were some kids ‘n there,” came a dark growl passing them. “And his ledger’s torn to shreds.  Probably robbed ‘im ‘n disposed of the evidence.”

“‘ell if we find ‘em we’ll string ‘em up real good.”

“Oughta make fer a good afternoon. Not had a lynchin’ in days!”

“I find your presences ever taxing,” drawled a surprisingly cultured, articulate voice, Kally not missing how Harry’s hand tightened around his wand. _Wands_ …

He might as well be holding a gun.

It made her want to leave, but she held still, _very_ still. Raucous, cruel laughter drifted in from the street, the name _Lucius_ spat from one of the other men, the words echoing in the shallow alcove.

The green-eyed wizard fixed her with a cutting look, shadows playing across his face. “Told you,” he hissed, “it’s not _ever_ safe here.”

She shot him a _look_ right back. This wasn’t exactly the way she’d envisioned the afternoon going.  She wasn’t sure what she’d envisioned, but it hadn’t involved hiding in a puddle of spilled beer and perhaps piss judging from the smell.  Fidgeting, waiting for the wizards they’d heard talking to leave, she concentrated on breathing _calmly._

The problem was that Hagrid’s friend was hovering _close_. Regrettably _close_ given how small an area they were in, and for some reason that bothered her more than it should, his knee bumping against her.

She fidgeted _more_ , the wizard eyeing her strangely.

A rickety cart rolled past the alcove, Kally abruptly ducking her head low once more, shadows playing across the ground.  Breathing slower, she looked up, finding Harry looking right back at her, as if…studying her. 

Without meaning to, without even being aware that she was doing it, she studied him right back.

An instant later her brow furrowed, curious. “Wasn’t your hair _black_ before?” she whispered.

The wizard outright snorted.  “I don’t know,” he drawled, fixing her with a challenging look, “was it?”

Her mouth fell open. “Are you always such an ass?”

“Depends on the company.”

“Enough said,” she muttered darkly, whatever curiosity she’d had about him suddenly _gone._ Glancing around the keg to see if the people were gone, she urgently hissed, “I think they’re-”

She didn’t get a chance to finish. Harry had already snagged her arm and bodily hauled her out, the two bolting down the alley once more. He was dragging her so fast that she barely had a chance to catch her breath.

The speed made sense though, given several Ministry of Magic officials had just apparated farther off down the alleyway, where they had been not minutes before.

Kally shuddered without knowing why. _The Ministry…_

Hagrid had said their laws were antiquated, that they’d kill people like her….

Harry’s voice broke into her thoughts, the sudden sound almost like a shotgun blast, even though he was all-but whispering at her. “So,” he pressed quietly as they moved, “what book was so important you had to go into Knockturn for it?”

Her feet pounded against grimy dirt as they ducked around a group of vendors hawking eyeballs in jars. “No offense,” she snapped, arm actually hurting beneath his iron grip, “but it’s none of your business.”

“Just,” he commented, his voice carefully controlled, “trying to make conversati-”

A voluminous man covered in what looked like black spider webs shoved roughly past, cutting Harry off as he failed to take heed of the two individuals speaking a foot below his rather freakish height. In the process he smacked against them brusquely, their heads banging together hard, and she found herself kicking a spray of pebbles in the man's direction, oddly satisfied as the man halted, swore, and turned in place looking for the perpetrator of the attack on his calves.

She was jerked in another direction so fast that she barely had time to process how anyone could _move_ that quickly, let alone the messy haired man with her. "Making friends everywhere I see," Harry commented dryly, hunkering behind a cart that at one point in time had been selling rotting produce, the pungent wagon blocking them from the angry giant’s view.  

Harry shot her a fiercely annoyed look, the two ducked behind it. “What about keeping a low profile until we were out of here did you _miss_?”

“He deserved it,” she hissed right back, eyeing the angry-looking man through the swinging, mold-covered radishes.

She was reasonably certain that Harry actually _growled_ at her, her eyes flicking towards him and narrowing. “You sound like a dog.”

“Harpy,” he muttered right back.

“Hound.”

He snarled something foul, the angry man moving off. An instant later she was being drug again through the street, the ground of haphazardly constructed alley having a tendency to move, bend and crack on a whim as they all but jogged to get out of there.

“You’re really pleasant, you know that?”

He just growled again, the two of them precipitously bursting out of Knockturn and back onto the busy street of Diagon, the sunlight suddenly _bright._ It was almost blinding give how oddly dark Knockturn Alley had been, the two moving so fast that they were clear across the street and past a wizarding bank before it’d even registered.

The moving sea of bodies was suddenly near-claustrophobic, the heady pressure of commercial commerce hanging heavily in the air here. The mixing aromas from the apothecary, ice cream parlor, and owl emporium blended with that of the joke shop's scented smoke bombs, while candles burned mid-wick in every storefront window, lending the area a unique flavor.

It hit her like a battering ram, it a stark contrast to the pungent odors of Knockturn.

The messy haired man with her suddenly stopped, Kally knocking right into him.

He grunted, fixing her with a look she couldn’t identify. Irritation maybe?

They were standing off to the side, a safe two hundred paces off from the entrance to that dingy alleyway, standing directly in front of a Magical Menagerie. Nearby a small drinking trough sloshed, a long stick extending over it, several owls perched upon it. 

Her eyes swept past him, landing upon them.  Slowly, instinctively, she took a step back, _away_ from the birds.  People in the crowd were shoving past them, eager to get their school shopping done-

A burlesque woman screaming as she chased a toddler smashed into them, jostling them both directly into the shopfront window, the glass _bending._ A shot of pain shot through her shoulder, an old scar hit in the wrong spot.  Harry just looked somewhat annoyed, abruptly releasing his grip on her, Kally immediately rubbing her arm, her expression wincing now that circulation was restored. _Somewhat._  

The wizard with her _noticed._ “Sorry,” he said, almost automatically, before his dark, forest-like eyes met hers once more.

She met his gaze levelly, without apology, _awkwardly_ while a woman with a torn, tattered gray shawl limped around the corner, leaning heavily on a claw footed cane. Neither spoke as the woman shambled along, quietly croaking out a melody of sorts about bat wings and who-ding-its.

As soon as the woman neared the weave of the alley, becoming interested in street vendor's merchandise, the wizard closed the distance between them, his shoes disturbing the deep claw marks that the elder's cane had left indented in the soiled ground.

The wizard was looking at her, his jaw tensing, looking like he was going through several different thoughts in his head before deigning to speak.

“Just saying, going into places like Knockturn is a _bad_ idea, particularly for a _book_.”

She wet her lips, suddenly _nervous._ She didn’t like people who followed her. She didn’t like him standing this _close_ to her. Everything in her wanted to lash out at him for making her have to think about whether or not he could figure anything out from the brief conversation. She doubted it, but still…Hagrid had warned her. Dumbledore had _warned_ her. And yet-

 “Seriously,” he repeated, cutting into her thoughts, “a book?”

Swallowing, hearing the owls from over the trough rustling their wings, she shook her head. “Maybe,” she murmured, “I really wanted to read it.”

A dark brow rose. “Hogwarts _has_ books.”

“Not this one.  Special edition.”

His expression turned skeptical. “How would you know? I thought you were a transfer?”

“I’m already staying there.”

Had she said something foul about his mother his expression probably wouldn’t have differed by much.  The wizard stared at her, something about his stance seeming stiff, his expression unreadable. “You’re,” he calmly, _too_ calmly, repeated, “staying there?”

A hoard of children rushed past, Kally finding the wizard’s malachite gaze locked firmly onto hers. It was penetrating, Kally taking an unbidden step backwards. She had no idea how to handle this, let alone address it.  Hagrid hadn’t said _anything_ about that being anything out of the ordinary. “Doesn’t matter,” she deflected.

“No,” he grunted, taking a step _forward_ to match the one she’d taken back. “You said you were staying there. How?” 

Taking _another_ slight step back, trying to calm her breathing, her spine thudded against something solid. Somehow she had wound up with her back pressing against several stacked crates labeled _rat food_. Looking at him, she fiercely whispered, “It’s _none_ of your business.”

He stood there, right in front of her, his jaw appearing to lock as neither of them said anything for a long, long moment. It was surreal, how chilling that was, despite the warm summer sun beating down and the throngs of crowds bustling past.

There was something about his eyes, a trace of familiarity within them that _scared_ her. It took her awhile to realize…

They looked haunted.

Kally wet her lips, eyes darting around his larger form. “Look, I should get back to meet up with Hag-”

“So now,” he interjected skeptically, “you want to go wait for Hagrid?”

Her gaze flickered from the bustling street back to him. “That’s really not the point.”

“Oh I disagree,” he stated, “I think it very much is.” She didn’t miss how his gaze took on a suspicious, disapproving glint, dropping to the aged book she held in hand.

Kally was suddenly, unbelievably glad that the cover was only etched with the author’s name, and nothing else. So she just stood there, trying to remain _calm._ “So you're telling me,” she stated quietly, “that every time you’re in Diagon Alley that _you_ inform Hagrid about everything you do?”  She inclined an eyebrow in silent query. 

"That's _not_ the _point_ ," he countered, shoving his hands into his pockets.

“I think it very much _is_ , actually.”

“Look-”

“No,” she interrupted. “I’m not going to look. In case you’re missing it you’ve got me pinned in and I’d like very much to _leave._ So can you _please-”_

The dark haired wizard's jaw clamped shut, a look of uncertainty sweeping across his features, as if he had _no_ clue on how to respond. It was like he hadn’t even realized he’d boxed her in. It took a second, a long second, but he finally took a step back, giving a gesture with his hand to indicate she could move whenever she wanted.

Voice unsteady she managed, “Thank you,” before starting to dart past-

An unbreakable grip snagged onto her arm. “How about,” he dryly said, “I go with you, given Hagrid asked us to watch out for you.”

She looked down at his hand, then back up at him. The feel of his fingers against her bare skin was…she didn’t know.

She just shrugged her arm away, staring at him hesitantly, as if he were something particularly dangerous. She didn’t like him. She _really_ didn’t want him around. He might have overheard something, seemed almost _nice_ suddenly, and she needed to keep him as far away from her as possible. “No thanks,” she forced. “Not sure about you, but I’m not a particular fan of people who interrogate me within five minutes of meeting.” And with that…

She tried to dart off.

Unfortunately she ran headlong into Hagrid, the impact knocking her several steps _backwards_.

Kally knocked into the water trough, the owls overhead suddenly disturbed.

* * *

Removing the shawl Tonks smiled maniacally, partly due to her relief at being away from the amazingly putrid odor of the house elf ear vendor, and partly because she was enjoying her old woman disguise too much.

"Out of me way!" she snapped in a scratchy voice, effectively clearing the area as people scattered in every direction. Anything to avoid getting whacked upside the head by the old lady with the sharp cane.

Grinning with sadistic pleasure she passed where Kingsley stood, casually leaning against a dingy Knockturn Alley wall and reading the newspaper. Wasting not a second she snagged onto his sleeve, dragging him with her after the two teens.

Kingsley yanked out his ear piece, the one that had allowed him to hear everything she had.

"Tonks drop the old woman diatribe, you're mucking it up and sound like a pirate."

She threw her head back and cackled, sending a small group of frogs scattering in every direction.

"Oh being old is fun!" she related. "I should do this more often!"

Kingsley now appeared to be thumping himself in the head with the rolled up sports section.

Maintaining their ambling pursuit, she was having trouble grasping Harry's conversation due to the noise.  Knockturn Alley was typically deserted, but today it was strangely bustling.  Fortunately they were able to stay relatively close due to her tendency to knock anyone unlucky enough to walk in front of them in the back of the knee with the claw footed cane.

"Remind me why we didn't just confront them?" Kingsley grumbled unhappily.

"Well one," she said cheerfully, "do you really think they'd be upfront about what they're little rendezvous was about? Two, this is just so much more _fun_!"

Kingsley groaned. "And here I thought you were the one _against_ following Harry around."

"Details!" she shot back. "Besides, if I'm going to throttle him I at least need to hear that I have a good reason."

"I'd have a few for throttling you…"

“You never let me get to three,” she continued flippantly. “Because I think he hexed Borgins, and got him _real_ good.”

Kingsley sputtered loudly, choking on what appeared to be his spoon.  “Why in the HELL didn’t you intervene?!”

“Well how else will Harry ever get proficient at defending himself? Besides, I think he was defending the _girl_.” She added enough emphasis to the last word that Kinglsey groaned loudly, the noise vibrating in her ear.

“But Harry is okay.”

“Yup!” she said gleefully, glad that she had been right about him. “Boy’s got a mighty spin on his hexes so looks fine! Not sure we can say the same for Mr. Borgins.”

“You didn’t _check_?!”

Tonks cackled, stalking and swinging her cane in response.  Obviously she hadn’t. Borgin was a slimy git.

From farther off in the alley there was a shout about an attack and robbery at a shop.

Tonks’ boss groaned so loudly, his complexion growing shockingly red, that she feared for his literal health. Several menacing looking wizards were rushing past them towards the general direction of Borgins & Burkes, looking murderous, and she dimly heard Kingsely requesting back up to Borgin & Burkes, due to reports of wand fire.

“You’re such a sucker for protocol, Kingsley. Who cares if he has tentacles growing out of him?”

“It’s our _job_ , Nymphadora,” he hissed lowly, paying attention to things like ‘voice volume.’ “Or did you once again forget your place of employ?”

Smiling cheekily Tonks ignored this. "Watch and learn from the master Kingsley. Watch and learn."

Kingsley snorted. "I thought I was the master."

"Oh?" she questioned, "So I guess it is okay to refer to you as that."

"You're really aiming to get that personalized, permanently stuck name plate aren't you?"

"You wouldn't."

"What makes you think not?"

Smirking she did her best to keep Harry's head in sight, only she’d lost him. Cursing under her breath she walloped her procured cane against a man too busy posturing for a Veela look alike to notice the bustling crowd swarming around him. “Where did he…”

Harry darted out of an alley right then, dragging the girl behind him.

She let out a triumphant cackle, turning to Kingsley. "If you put a nameplate on my office it'll…"

"You don't have an office."

She frowned. "Someday I might."

"Not if you keep this up."

Groaning she whacked her boss with the cane, appeased by the fact that a six foot plus man was now hopping up and down on one foot courtesy of her.

"Now that I've got your attention…"

He groaned, the two bursting out into Diagon Alley, sunlight beating down upon them.

"If you do that it'll permanently remind you of me, and you wouldn't want that now would you?"

Right then Kingsley looked very much like he would love to drown himself in the water basin outside of the Magical Menagerie. It was a shame the owls drinking from it looked murderous.

It took another second for the information to process within her mind, for it was a relatively clear area all of a sudden, courtesy of Hagrid blocking traffic, and Harry had just drug the girl over there.

Each and every single owl was glaring in their direction.

* * *

The entire afternoon had been insane.  Seriously, getting in a wand fight, having to chase down a random witch, and then arguing with her definitely had to be at the top of the ‘weirdest trip yet’ list.

It didn’t help that he could still smell his own shoes.  Whatever they’d been crouching in back in that alcove had reeked.

It was a wonder the owls weren’t looking at _him_ the way they were looking at Kalliandra.

The witch had backed right into the owls’ drinking trough, the slanted lines of the barn owls’ faces unnerving as a sharp clacking, the distinctive sound of powerful beaks snapping shut in succession, began. 

Harry stared as the witch whirled around, her eyes glued upon the unhappy birds of prey, only able to watch as she slowly, almost instinctively took a step back, _away_ from them and their predatory, defensive behavior.

He didn’t miss how Hagrid’s hand clamped firmly onto her shoulder, abruptly tugging her back an extra meter and onto the curb. Traffic was now moving _around_ them, rather than pinning them in, courtesy of shoppers trying to avoid Hagrid’s hulking form.

“Heya ‘arry,” Hagrid greeted, not looking at him and instead eyeing the owls with a strange expression. “Madam Maulkin done torturin’ Ron I take it?”

He shook his head. “Not exactly…”

“Eh well, it ‘appens,” the half-giant commented nonsensically, dark eyes darting underneath the thick scruff of hair on his large head, looking between the two of them. “Ye two getting’ on well are ye?”

_Not exactly…_ but he didn’t have a chance to comment as Hagrid clapped him rather hard on the back.

“Good to ‘ea, Harry. Good to ‘ear.”

It was clear that Hagrid was hardly paying attention, to him at least. To Kalliandra however….well, the half giant was observing her as if she were a sick hippogriff about to go off. Not that he could blame him, with the way she now stood, teetering on the curb away from the shop front, rubbing her shoulder a slight grimace gracing her mouth.

The quiet, almost pained individual before him appeared rather different from the girl he had just been bickering with along the streets.

For a half-second Harry wondered if Borgins had actually _hurt_ her, his fist tensing.

“Yer okay there Kally?” Hagrid asked, apparently noticing her peculiarity as well.

“I’m fine, Hagrid,” she responded dully. Her hand fell away from her shoulder quickly.

“Are you sure?” This time it was _him_ who asked the question, his gaze locking onto hers, the witch’s eyes rising, surprisingly meeting his own for a fleeting second.

“Yeah…” she murmured. “I just got jostled a bit in the crowd.” The forced smile she cast did not reach her eyes.

And just as quickly as before, Harry wondering if he seriously was hallucinating, a shadow crossed through her gaze.

A second later her eyes had turned down, looking once more at the cobblestone street of Diagon rather than at either of them.  Very quietly, almost as an afterthought, she quietly muttered, “I’m getting sick of everyone asking me that.”

“Yes well, it will ‘appen to yer…” Hagrid muttered, once again the words meaningless and confusing, as if a part of a previous conversation that Harry was not a participant in. The half-giant cleared his throat, turning his attentions onto them. “So, ye two have fun today then?”

Harry’s gaze darted to hers, finding that Kalliandra was looking at him, looking almost afraid.

For some unbelievably asinine reason he found himself nodding. “Yeah we um…” dragging his hand across his head, through his unruly hair, he gestured at the book in her hand. “Went to the bookstore.”

A look of pure relief crossed Kalliandra’s features, the witch silently mouthing _thank you_ behind Hagrid’s back.

Harry could only grimace, not sure why in the hell he was lying for her. He wasn’t even sure he _liked_ this witch. In fact, he was fairly positive he found her fairly dislikable given that she argued about _everything._

Hell, she wasn’t even looking at him anymore. She was instead looking, once again, at the cold ground.

The witch in question spoke, addressing Hagrid.  “Ready to leave?” Her question was pointed.

“Well ye want to ger get yer pet now er…”

"I don't think that's a very good idea," she muttered, her eyes still avoiding anything save for the pavement, her mannerisms bordering on frightened.

"Well ye 'ave to deal with it eventually."

Biting her lower lip she nodded, several long tresses falling to obscure the left side of her face. "I know," she whispered, eyes lowered to the ground.

Hagrid just nodded gruffly, glancing at him with the air of a concerned parent ready to pounce.

The entire exchange was perhaps his most confusing one to date, and Harry had, thus far, not even been a participant.

"Look, yer'll be wantin' a pet, and ya can't take Silverthorne to your dorm with yer…"

"Silverthorne?" Harry cut in, hoping to perhaps catch a smidgen of coherency.

"A thestral," Hagrid supplied absentmindedly, and at that word Harry couldn't help it.

He turned an incredulous look to the side of her head, the only part of her face still visible. "A thestral is your _pet_?"

He swore she nearly laughed. "No. Silverthorne is _no one's_ pet. I've just taken a liking to him."

Now he had to admit that they had been useful at the end of last term, but to take a particular _liking_ to one? What the hell did that mean?

"So you can see them?" he finally asked, at a loss.

Turning her head towards them again, her eyes still avoiding the owls like a plague, she shot him an odd look. "Yeah, why couldn't I? I'm not blind."

Hagrid's sudden look of panic didn't escape him, nor did it Kalliandra as she shot him a questioning look, to which the Care of Magical Creatures Professor cowered slightly.

He decided to save him the trouble of answering. "Well not everyone _can_ see the..."

"Why not?" she asked sharply.

"Because you can't see them unless you've seen someo..." he stopped short, seeing the look Hagrid was shooting him.

Her brow crinkled in annoyance, and Hagrid's voice came out, suddenly pacifying.

"Now Kalliandra yer know 'ow some things 're..."

This tactic only elicited a small noise of displeasure from her.

Frustrated, Harry supplied the information for her.

"You can't see them unless you've seen someone die."

Wrong choice.

There was no verbal exchange, but her eyes darkened, speaking volumes.

"Are yer alri..." Hagrid started cautiously.

"Yes," she whispered.

"We can get yer pet later," Hagrid stammered. "That'd be…"

"It's fine, Hagrid," she cut in, sweeping past them both into the store, her eyes remaining averted the entire time.

Hagrid let out a defeated sigh, rubbing his forehead with a large hand wearily, and the realization of what he had just done struck Harry like a lightning bolt.

She hadn't known, and he had probably just brought back whatever horrible memory her past had held.

As if to rub salt in the wound Hagrid shouldered a ridiculously large bag of Boarhound Pet Chow, groaning tiredly. “I ‘eally wish ya hadn’t said that ‘arry.”

Harry swallowed. “Yeah, no kidding.” 

* * *

Kalliandra quickly walked through the musty, noisy store, avoiding all the live animal displays, and she disappeared behind a large shelf stocked with rat feed, relief sweeping through her that no one was back there as her conflicted emotions threatened to rise to the surface. She had spent the past three weeks carefully building a wall of indifference around herself, and she couldn't afford to let it down now.

Not over such a trivial fact coming to light. Not when she had a book clutched in her hands that could provide her answers.

Yet still…why hadn't they _told_ her?

She knew the answer without asking, for to have been reminded of the reasons behind her presence here in the wizarding world in _any_ way…it would only serve to remind her that they were all dead.

In school a speaker had come and spoken to them about the dangers of drunk driving once, regaling them with a horrid tale of how they had personally lost their entire family due to one fool’s desire to ‘party’ a little too hard. They’d woken up in a hospital bed, newly _alone_ in the world, their entire family interred in the morgue.

Kally understood that.

She bet that person would have been able to see thestrals too. 

A slight tremor coursed through her, and sighing sadly she listened to the soft hooting amidst the rafters. She would not look at them, for she had already seen how they reacted to her.

Yet the hooting continued, more persistent, and somewhere in the carnal recesses of her mind she knew her very presence there was a bad idea, a poor choice of both Dumbledore's and Hagrid's judgment.

Facing obstacles was apparently a healthy thing, even when it generally resulted in having irate owls attempting to bite her, or so Dumbledore had claimed when he’d suggested she go visit the owlery. Somehow she didn’t agree.

With a great degree of trepidation she found herself tilting her head up to peer through the dark, cluttered atmosphere of the shop, her eyes slowly adjusting, pupils widening in the dim lighting as the lower rafters slowly came into view.

Owl upon owl rested upon them, some peacefully sleeping, their heads carefully nestled into the folds of their feathers, while the rest had trained their alert, shining eyes upon her.

The menacing clacking of beaks being threateningly opened and snapped shut began to, once again, fill the room near her.

"So you think you'll get one of them?"

Cringing, though almost glad for the distraction, she turned her attention slowly to the same messy haired wizard who had quite literally saved her, the man now standing in front of her. To his credit, he at least had the common sense to look apprehensive.

"Look, Kalliandra, I'm sorry. I didn't realize..."

"It's fine," she muttered, forcing her voice level. She did not need his pity. She did not _want_ it.

Despite this, she could not help but keep a furtive eye on him, as she pretended to peruse the owl selection, her eyes carefully avoiding all of the owls, and she was a bit surprised to see a downcast, yet determined, expression upon his face.

He followed her down the aisle. "I don't think it is."

"Like it matters to you," she whispered quickly, silently reminding herself of all the predatory behaviors to avoid.

_Do not make eye contact… Keep your head lowered… No loud noises or sudden movements…_

Like that would actually help in calming these poor woodland creatures, for it certainly had little effect on the one with the supposedly larger brain: Potter.

His expression had faltered at her last words. "In case it's escaped your notice, I'm trying to be nice here. I'm at least making an effort."

"You shouldn't have bothered."

Groaning he raised his hands, folding them behind his head. "You're right. I don't know why I did."

"Wonderful," she murmured sarcastically, traversing her way along the back wall. It was probably worse that he was trying to be nice now. He hadn't heard _much_ before, and now…

Kalliandra needed to keep people away from her. At least she needed to keep nice, overly intrusive people away.

"You know..." A raucous hissing cut him off as an owl nipped at his raised hands. Harry jerked away hastily, nearly taking a wooden shelf with him.

"Bloody owl," he grumbled, glaring up towards the offending bird, who by now had hopped down to the lowest rafter, where it screeched, its outstretched wings flapping vigorously.

For some absurd reason the situation struck her as funny rather than frightening, and she did not bother to suppress a slight laugh, her gaze flickering up towards the formidable looking owl. For once it was not aimed at her. And as if sensing her scrutiny its dark eyes locked with her own.

Its territorial behavior ceased, drawing a smile to her face, for she wasn't the only one to lash out at those who came to close.

She traced the Great Horned owl's outline, noting the black coloration speckling its reddish brown wings, its catlike face and highly pointed ears all swiveled curiously towards her.

Then she noticed the small shackle imprisoning it, one end encircling its twig thin leg, the other binding it to the rafter it sat so miserably upon. It was caged, forbidden to go wherever it pleased.

Just...like...her.

It was perhaps the most foolish thing she had yet done, but she held out her arm hopefully, and watching its wings extend it gracefully flew to her, its shackles clinking haphazardly as it landed gently upon her arm. She eyed its magnificent dark eyes, noting how it was careful to not dig its talons into her skin, and she turned away from Harry, walking to the front counter as the owl re-perched upon its rafter, waiting for her to re-turn.

"You'll need a cage for him," he pointed out.

"He won't be needing it," she replied curtly.

For a second he was silent, and then… "You're awfully personable aren't you?"

"Not usually," she stopped at the counter wearily.

Harry groaned loudly. "Fine. Just-fine." A moment later he'd turned in a frustrated huff, getting out of the store in _seconds_. Watching his retreating figure she too late realized how wrong she had sounded.

And then Dumbledore's words came floating back to her. His one's about the need for her and the many, _many_ others currently under his protection to keep some things quiet. Some things secret.

Something cold, restricting, and callous curled within her throat, for until this war, the one they all refused to tell her anything about, was over, she would be more alone than ever.

_The wounds of a rain soaked night were still far too fresh._

It was better to push everyone away.

For their own good, and for her own.

Through the sun-glinting window she could see Harry talking animatedly with Hagrid. His stony features looked vaguely annoyed, and if she hadn't known better, she would have thought that he seemed insulted.

A cold shudder rippled through her. Harry was also dangerous, of that she was sure. She didn’t know why, but…

She somehow knew it.

She'd practically felt his suspicions rippling off of him, even if he’d been trying to _help._

She'd talk to Dumbledore. She'd relate everything upon her return.

A light weight descended upon her arm, jarring her from her thoughts as two dark eyes met hers. She smiled, her first true smile in weeks, reaching out a hesitant hand and ruffling the owls feathers. They were soft, like those of a newborn hatchling, only she wouldn't know for sure.

She had never felt an owl before now.

A sense of peace filled her as it continued looking up at her, hooting softly. And for a second, just a brief moment she knew to be both fleeting and false, she could have sworn it silently understood.

* * *

Once again Harry was completely and utterly confused by the feminine species.

He simply did not get it.

At the very least he had at least figured out how to use _words_ around her.  Then again, being part of a wand fight tended to have that rather _abrupt_ effect on him. 

He wanted to know what book could have possibly been so important that she’d risked going into _Knockturn_ for it. And why the hell hadn’t he told Hagrid what had happened?

He honestly didn’t have a bloody _clue._

A cacophony of sounds emerged as the shop's door opened, emitting Kalliandra and her horribly moody owl. He grimaced at the sight, even as a chiding voice reminded him how an animal's behavior could so oft deceive.

Buckbeat's certainly had.

That was all forgotten though, for right then she raised her forearm high, and gray wings spread wide, feet and claws hopping from her arm as the owl took flight, circling in wide arcs until it disappeared above the rooftops of Diagon Alley.

"Kalliandra what in the blimey are yer doing!? You just lost yer pet!" Hagrid exclaimed.

And to Harry's great surprise, she actually smiled. Her eyes seemed distant, as if she were looking into something that no one save her could see.

"Hagrid, he deserves to be free. And if not…" a wane smile touched her lips, "he can just meet me at Hogwarts."

 


	5. A Professor of One

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things alter for the worse spontaneously, if they be not altered for the better designedly." Francis Bacon

Things alter for the worse spontaneously, if they be not altered for the better designedly." Francis Bacon

**Chapter 5 ~ A Professor of One**

Remus yawned tiredly, his light brown eyes skirted across the train platform at Hogsmeade, searching for the familiar form that was nowhere in sight. A light smile crossed his weary features and he chuckled. Hagrid was not someone he would easily miss had he been there. No invisibility cloak was quite _that_ large.

"Hagrid..." He said, shaking his head amusedly. He picked up his briefcase, crossing the deserted, outdoor platform in the direction of Hogwarts.

It wasn't far, and Hagrid would undoubtedly intercept him along the way, most likely in his own, frenzied hurry to intercept _him_. Hagrid was a bit forgetful at time, and Remus could not fault him. He would be to if he took care of such a hazardous array of animals for a living.

The train platform was on the outskirts of the small village, on the outer edge nearest Hogwarts, and a pebbled road led directly to the school's front doors. He would turn off it before he reached Hogwarts' massive, welcoming entrance, to traverse his way across the lush, green grounds to Hagrid's hut.

Remus had never been close to the game keeper, but he respected the man immensely for his work in the Order.

He also empathized with him, and recently Hagrid had mentioned that he was one of the few who could truly hope to understand him.

He started walking, thinking how right Hagrid was.

The sun beat down on his pale shoulders, warming more than his shirt. The sun was rejuvenating to him in a way few understood, because it was a full orb of light for which he harbored no fear. It was funny, that the lightest of nights filled him with foreboding and pain, when usually it was the absence of light that inspired fear. He sought solace in the darkest of nights, that was when he felt his best, but for now, when the moon was a quarter full, he would seek comfort in the warm afternoon sun.

It was because of this curse that he could empathize with Hagrid. The opportunity to become a fully qualified wizard had been stolen from the gamekeeper turned Professor, and it had nearly evaded even himself. Had it not been for Dumbledore's kindness Remus would never have studied magic. No other school would have taken him.

They had _feared_ him.

The curse of being different, he thought bitterly. They were both labeled as _dangerous_ by the wizarding community, and shunned. Their friends even suffered for their mere association.

A half-giant and a werewolf...two of the most dangerous magical beings on the planet, both seen as murderous, blood-thirsty beasts, and yet neither one of them possessed the inclination to harm another.

Weren't the painful transformations and premature aging enough? He shook his head, knowing the answer to that, because it wasn't.

No, he had to be shunned as well. Didn't they know he would change it if he could? And Hagrid...one of the most gentle, kind-hearted people he had ever met, yet the Ministry feared him and his giant heritage. They labeled him violent without even knowing him. He could at least understand why people feared _him_ , but Hagrid was harmless. He at least _was_ truly dangerous.

Several nights in his past stood in dark testament to _that_.

Because of his forgetfulness, Wormtail had gotten away on one of those nights. If he had only taken his potion, perhaps Voldemort would not have returned, perhaps Sirius would not have died...

Damn't Sirius! He had figured his friend's stubborn nature would have made him harder to kill, but in the end, he, just like James, had been as vulnerable as the rest.

He was the last now.

Peter was as good as dead, and if he ever saw him again... If he ever got the chance...

He'd make sure a finger really _was_ all there was left of him.

He shuddered at the thought, remembering the words Lily had spoken to him, as he stood over his parents freshly dug graves.

_"Even in the darkest of times, there are shimmers of light Moony. It's just a matter of finding them..."_

It was something he had promised to show Harry. Harry was the only real family he had left, and he wanted the boy, who was quickly growing into a man, to know of the incredible strength his parents had held. He needed to know that there were things worth fighting for.

_Lord knows he's already had his share of fighting..._

We all have...

The thought sobered him, reminding him of his purpose today. He squinted ahead, shielding his eyes from the bright morning sun to look for any sign of Hagrid.

Today he would truly meet her.

He wasn't sure whether to be nervous, or to simply be exhilarated that the broken girl he had cradled had survived.

_Kalliandra._

She had been thrust into their world unwillingly. Dumbledore, in all his wisdom, had felt Hogwarts to be the safest place for her. It would be a good way to help her adjust, by slowly exposing her to people her own age.

But unlike others her age, she lacked a prior five years of magical education, and any knowledge whatsoever of their world.

It would be his job to remedy that.

When Dumbledore had asked him, he had felt inadequate, poorly equipped for the task.

Dumbledore had set him down, much like he were once again the pupil and he the teacher, and told him he had never known another who he would trust more with her.

It was then that he had confided in him.

_"When Voldemort was still the school boy, Tom Riddle, I feared what he may grow to be._

"When Harry came, I feared what loss may drive him to do.

"Now I fear what she may do to herself."

Not to mention what she could do to those around her. The memory of the night they had found her was still burned into his mind's eye. It was not something Remus would soon forget.

Doing his job right could mean the difference in this young woman's survival. Dumbledore had been very clear on that.

Now if only there was a witch or wizard out there equipped to deal with this. Only, there wasn't.

He knew the odds for her. He knew what she was facing, even if she did not. And he knew what so often happened to those with her ability.

By all rights he should be terrified and have run in the other direction.

Yet he could not bring himself to do so. Not when the image of her feeble body lying there, clad in mud and the blood of those she loved, kept coming back to him each night as he dreamt. He felt a note of discord at the thought of anything worse befalling her.

Deep down he knew what it was to be judged, and he'd be damned if he did that to another breathing person on this planet.

And that was why, despite knowing all of this, that he had accepted the assignment. Dumbledore wanted her to have the same chance as everyone, and he had full heartedly agreed.

Now all he had to figure out was _how_ to give it to her.

_"The most worthwhile things in life are never easy..."_

Her words came back, hitting him as fresh as if they had fallen from her lips only yesterday, and never before had they been more appropriate.

A sad smile lit his face. Only she could say something that's meaning would last decades.

Just like the pain...

Always so fresh, so sharp...

He still marveled at how so many spoke of healing, and forgetting. Pain did not vanish. It did not go away. You could not deal with it, for to deal would imply to fix. Instead you just learned how to live with it, without losing your mind.

Of course, the same people had often spoken on how well he dealt with pain, but he did not _feel_ very good at that. He was just logical enough to know that there was no good in dwelling on what could have been. Things happened… _bad_ things...whether you wanted them to or not, and nothing one said or did could change that.

If it did none of them would be gone…

And after all these years, she was still right. A smile formed on his lips, the joyful memories coming back, flooding his vision as he remembered Padfoot's taunting about how she was 'always right', and they were 'always wrong'.

Her retort had been that it was about time they saw it her way.

He chuckled slightly, catching sight of Dumbledore making his way leisurely down the sparsely used road. He raised a hand in greeting, catching the Headmaster's attention, and was pleased to see an amused grin on the Headmaster's powerful face.

"Good Afternoon Remus."

"Likewise Albus," he said, shifting his briefcase to the other arm.

Dumbledore removed his half-moon spectacles, polishing them on his summer robes. "It's amazing, how the brilliant sun glare can make even the most _tiny_ of smudges stand out, almost like the dark spot where the sun is supposed to be when a solar eclipse shields it."

The Headmaster held his glasses to the sun, studying them through his light, twinkling, currently squinted eyes, searching for any left over imperfections.

"But enough about the rattled musings of this grandfather clock's inner workings. How have you been? I trust the train's conductor wasn't too erratic with the speed for your young heart?"

Remus smiled broadly. Yes, in relaxed, social situations, Dumbledore was still the same.

"The train was fine, and I've been good. I was just thinking of some amusing arguments Cassilyda and Sirius had before."

Dumbledore replaced his glasses on his nose, looking off towards the sun as if seeing something far past it. "Ah...yes those two did have a penchant for arguments did they not? I seem to remember a certain James Potter walking in on one of them...it took Pomfrey all afternoon to get him straightened out. She was rather reluctant to change him back... Something about liking him better as a mute eel, unable to cause mayhem on an hourly basis, locked up in a tank...I believe Lily had been particularly amused."

Remus smiled fondly, remembering the faces Jame's _the eel_ had made, pressing his slimy, snakelike body against the glass walls of the fish tank. They had scooped him off the floor and conjured a tank quickly, filling it with water as soon as they had seen him flopping around on the stone floor.

Whether Lily had seen James or not before stepping on him had been a matter of debate for weeks.

Not to mention, in the hospital wing, when James had started trying to form letters with his long, serpent like body...

He chuckled slightly. He still wanted to know how James had contorted himself into an R... He shuddered thinking of how painful that spelling out 'You're a Dead Man Sirius' must have been.

"Quite an impressive bit of Transfiguration for fifth years... I gave Gryffindor House 20 points for that," Dumbledore mused aloud, turning his gaze on him, his eyes twinkling with amusement over the rim of his glasses. "I was sourly tempted to give out an award for Special Services to the School, since the Minister of Magic was visiting that day, and their "accident" rendered James incapable of doing something drastic, like turning the Minister's hair neon pink," Dumbledore grinned slyly at this. "Come to think of it I wouldn't entirely _mind_ seeing that..."

Remus could only shake his head, suppressing the laughter threatening to come out. It was good seeing Dumbledore.

"Of course, in the end, no one could determine whose wand actually _had_ transfigured young James at the time, so I couldn't give anyone the award. I was sourly disappointed by that."

" _That_ was your only reason for not giving it?" he asked amused.

"Why yes Remus. Do you really think I would pass up a chance to encourage the propagation of good behavior when Ministry officials are visiting?"

"Not when Umbridge is the Ministry official," he replied, thinking of how Fred, George, Harry, Ron, and Ginny had described that impractical toad the year before.

"Ah yes...how is she doing in St. Mungos? I believe the verdict was temporary insanity?"

"It should have been _permanent_ insanity and a life sentence in Azkaban. The toad was about to use an Unforgivable Curse on Harry!"

Dumbledore nodded curtly. "Ah, but the word would be 'unforgivable' and we are supposed to be forgiving. And speaking of forgiving I am taking it that Hagrid got distracted and was late meeting you?"

He nodded assent, finding the well-known knowledge of Hagrid's quirk of untimeliness amusing.

Dumbledore grinned, "Well why don't we go see him together than Remus. I was just going to pay Madam Rosemereta a visit but my butterbeer can wait. Besides, if I am guessing his reason for being late to greet you...well...I may just be in need of some good, old fashioned fire whiskey."

He eyed Dumbledore curiously, "I didn't know you drank fire whiskey."

"But of course I don't..." he replied, winking mischievously. "I haven't had reason for such extravagant celebration since the Marauders graduation, granting me peace of mind and serenity again. Of course..." Dumbledore turned, waving for him to follow. "I'm not entirely sure I even have a mind left, with which to enjoy the serenity with."

Remus opened his mouth to reply, but no sound came forth. Instead he found himself following the Headmaster across the lawn, Hagrid's cabin quickly coming into sight as Dumbledore continued idle chitchat.

"...Now of course the key in those situations is managing the brew in reasonable amounts, a talent my dear brother does not possess," Dumbledore said, referring to his goat herder brother's drinking habits.

"Half my year didn't possess that talent," he replied, thinking of the one time he, James, Sirius, and Peter had gotten a hold of a bottle of Firewhiskey their 7th year. That had not gone over well... Fortunately Pomfrey had bought the excuse that all of them had caught the flu from each other. His thoughts were abruptly cut off as a loud, deep booming noise, sounding oddly like a fire cracker going off, met his ears. His attention turned towards the source, which was immediately apparent upon seeing the sight in front of him.

Hagrid and a young girl with golden hair were having a row. Only Hagrid seemed to be doing most of the yelling, while the girl just huffily picked up rock after rock from the side of the hut, flinging them with unusual vigor and accuracy, at an unsuspecting tree trunk, which was taking the brunt of her very visible frustration.

"Why hello Hagrid! Hello Kalliandra!" Dumbledore called out cheerfully, as if nothing were amiss.

Hagrid's voice immediately died down and the girl waved slightly before walking pointedly off towards the woods, where she stood blowing into her cupped hands, an odd whistling sound emitting from them.

He found himself looking between the girl at the edge of the Forbidden Forest, Hagrid's angry, red face, and Dumbledore's happy one.

"Hello there Remus. How yer doing today?" Hagrid replied, sounding rather strained. He looked strained too, because at the moment he wouldn't have been surprised to see steam coming out of the Professor's ears.

"Better than you it seems. What was all that about?"

"Oh that," Hagrid said angrily. " _That_ would be abou' Kalliandra bein' difficult.  Found a book she apparently got at the book shop, but they wouldn’t be a-sellin’ that kinda book in Diagon.” The half-giant looked like he was scowling.  “Guessin’ she went er…snoopin' aroun' Knockturn Alley t'day. Only ‘arry lied for her so I’m not bettin’ anything good about _that_."

“I did hear that Borgins was found hexed in his shop today,” Remus stated casually, it having already made the wizarding papers. He found himself only mildly amused though, almost _proud_.  He could only assume that had been Harry’s work.

Dumbledore seemed unperturbed by both implications. "Hrm…curious. I suppose it's only natural for her to seek out information though, and what better place than there? Wouldn't you agree Hagrid?"

Hagrid shook his head, sending his scruffy hair awry. "No sir. She shouldn' hafta be findin' things out dat way. It woulda bin all me fault though if she...if she had..."

"No use working yourself up about things that did not happen Hagrid," Dumbledore consoled, offering a reassuring smile.

“And what about ‘arry?” Hagrid was asking. “If he’s been lyin’-”

“Oh, I would imagine Harry has had to lie about quite a few things, Hagrid. It is as part of being a youth as anything. I would not worry much.”

Remus continued listening to the ensuing conversation, but his attention was elsewhere as he turned to see Kalliandra standing next to a thestral, which was profusely nuzzling her like a long, lost friend. Thestrals weren't exactly dangerous, but they weren't exactly friendly either.

One would never know how she had barely clung to life only weeks before.

He shook the images away.

"Hagrid what exactly is she doing?" He was having a hard time standing idly by with a thestral's sharp teeth nuzzling so close to his future pupil's neck.

"Oh," Hagrid huffed out, still sounding slightly annoyed. "That there be Silverthorne. He's a thestral."

"Well I can see that. I meant what is she..." he grasped for the right word unsuccessfully.

"Doing?" Dumbledore supplied amusedly.

"Yes," he replied embarrassedly. Sometimes the simplest word was what he was looking for.

"She bloody well talks to him more than she bloody talks to me," Hagrid grumbled. "Tells him everythin' from the looks of it and ye should see them, traversing' around at all hours of the day. Real spitfire that one is! Bloody well good luck teachin' her Remus! Bin havin' enough trouble gettin' Care of Magical Creatures down 'er throat and she actually _likes_ that. Can't imagine how she'll be with somethin' like Transfigurwhatsitcalled..."

"You mean to say that she's _bonded_ with an animal?" he mused, interrupting Hagrid's ramble.

"To hell with it! You'd think she actually understood what that one be sayin' half da time!" Hagrid muttered exasperatedly, a wounded look on his face. "She'll talk to that there animal and get to arguin' with me!"

Remus was thoughtful for a moment. "So she likes animals of the night..." he commented, turning to face both of them. "Well, then I won't have too much trouble then, now will I?"

Dumbledore nodded in agreement, smiling to himself. He couldn't have picked a more perfect person to tutor her. Now lets see if he can save her, he thought to himself, silently hoping for the best.

* * *

"She bloody set it free?" Ron exclaimed in disbelief.

Harry nodded, chucking his newly bought school books onto his bed in Grimmauld Place. "That's what I said wasn't it?"

"But...it's an _owl_!" Ron stammered, clearly not getting it. "You can't set an owl _free_ can you? I mean...they like... _fly_..."

"Very good Ron. Glad to see you know that a bird can _fly_ ," Hermione interjected, rolling her eyes as she entered their room, setting herself down onto the corner of his bed.

Ron gaped at her, looking strangely like a fish with protruding eyes.

"You know with your mouth open like that you can almost pass for a goldfish," She clipped scornfully.

Harry cringed inwardly on Ron's behalf. Hermione had been short with them ever since the three had re-grouped in Diagon Alley, only for him to hastily recount his story to them, and for Ron to just as hastily agree that Kalliandra was an insufferable twit.

Hermione, forever insufferably logical, had insisted on having the entire afternoon recounted word for word, and while she had admitted that the conversation had sounded suspicious, she felt that they were both over-reacting. He had even been forced to endure a long lecture about how wrong of him it was to eavesdrop as he had.

He had immediately pointed out that he hadn’t been eavesdropping _and_ that if he hadn’t decided to wait for her that the witch would have been hexed or worse. 

He also had pointed out that Hermione had harbored no problem whatsoever when Malfoy was the one he was eavesdropping on, which had earned him a sharp tut and another tangent about how he should have done more to make the girl welcome.

In her opinion, if Hagrid and Dumbledore trusted the girl, than they should too. End of story.

Ron had kindly pointed out that Hagrid also trusted Aragog, all dragons including Hungarian Horntails, and that he considered his little brother to be 'tamed.' _End of story._

It was right about then that Ron had made the mistake of calling Kalliandra several choice names, including a plain, ugly witch, which earned an infuriated round from Hermione about how 'ridiculously superficial' _they_ were being. He was unable to follow her entire tirade, but it ended with her concluding that both of them seemed to be 'blatantly misjudging' the girl on looks alone.

Harry had some thoughts on _that_ , but he sure as hell wasn’t going to voice them now. Instead he drug his hand over his head, tugging at his unruly hair. He was definitely _not_ misjudging her because of her looks. In fact he may have been doing the opposite, given he and Ron had _very_ different opinions there.

Hermione was still off on a tirade.

Yes…Ron had evidently hit a nerve, and at risk of further igniting her already roaring temper he avoided pointing out that he, for one, was definitely not prejudicing her on looks, because if he was he would be treating her like Ron did Fleur Delacour, rather than like the Black Plague.

Fortunately Harry did not mention any of these thoughts, got smart, and went quiet.

He wished he could say the same for Ron though.

"Still in a fine mood I see," Ron grumbled, shoving the bag with his new dress robes into the top dresser drawer.

Hermione's nose wrinkled in obvious disgust. "Aren't you even going to hang those up?"

"No. It's not like there are any girls here."

"So I suppose I'm a man is that it?" Hermione questioned icily.

"Unfortunately yes," Ron countered. "And a rather hot-headed know-it-all at that." Harry caught his friend mumbling.

"What was that?" Hermione asked, eyes narrowed dangerously.

"Oh _nothing_ Hermione," Ron replied with exaggerated formalness. "I was just saying what a lovely job you did defending that uptight, Slytherin bound..."

"I highly _doubt_ she is Slytherin bound."

"Is too! Mark my words she'll be in Slytherin! Sneaking off on Hagrid and having suspicious conversations! You heard what Harry said about her..."

"And from the sounds of it he was rather _rude_ and made her feel unwelcome _Ronald_!" Hermione snapped angrily. He glared at Ron. He did _not_ want to get brought back into this.

"And I met her for only five minutes and could tell she was..."

"Was _what_ Ronald! You can't tell _anything_ about a person after only meeting them for _five minutes_!"

"You didn't even meet her!" Ron shot back, his face growing slightly red as he flopped angrily down onto the bed across from his, staring pointedly up at the ceiling.

"I...well...at least I'm not passing judgment on her!"

"You are too! Just because it happens to be a _positive_ judgment doesn't mean that it's not _a_ judgment..."

"All I'm saying is that she's Hagrid's friend and we should at least give her a chance!"

"They didn't sound very friendly to me did they Harry?" Ron asked, directing his question at him.

Once again thank you for bringing me into this, he thought sarcastically, looking between Ron and Hermione's expectant expressions. He suppressed a groan, waiting for the retaliation that was about to come.

"They did at the robe shop..." Hermione's face broke into a triumphant grin, but he quickly added, "but it was a bit strained at the pet store." Hermione's face fell as Ron let out a triumphant woot.

"See Hermione!"

"Yes, I _do_ see Ronald. I see a prat who's way too eager to pass judgment on anyone but himself!" She stood abruptly. "If that closed minded brain of yours is actually capable of intelligence then try to remember that you passed judgment on _me_ our first year and were wrong!" She spun on her heel, stomping loudly. "If you can remember that is. But hopefully the effort to think is not too taxing, it'd be a pity if your head exploded!" With that she stormed out, slamming the door behind her.

Only after the walls shook as her own door slammed across the hall did Ron sit up, grinning triumphantly. "And apparently I _was_ right because she _still_ think she knows it all!"

The door to their room flew upon, revealing a livid looking Hermione.

"I can't _believe_ you!" she yelled angrily, looking ready to hex Ron at any moment.

Ron's grin vanished, his face gone slightly pale. "But...your door shut...How did you..."

"A door can be slammed by someone from either side, like from the hallway _Ronald_ ,” she snapped, this time leaving the door wide open as she stormed off, granting them both quite a view as she vigorously flung _her own_ door behind her this time.

Ron was right on her heels, like usual. "Mione come on...I said I'm sorry..."

"No you didn't!" came Hermione's shrill, but muffled reply.

"Well I just..."

Harry tuned them out. This had happened three times just that week, all when something trivial set one or the other of off, and it always escalated into this melee. Usually Ron wound up standing outside her door, pleading for forgiveness, like he could now hear him doing.

He leaned back with a loud groan onto his bed. He sincerely hoped Ron asked her out soon, because he wasn't sure how many more of their bickering induced headaches he could take.

 


End file.
